


Good to Know

by daphnomancy



Series: Comminution [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Plug, Aphrodisiacs, Blindfolds, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Drug-Induced Sex, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Orgasm, Gags, HYDRA Trash Party, Hallucinogens, M/M, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character Death(s), Overstimulation, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Sounding, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-04-18 03:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 120,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnomancy/pseuds/daphnomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was 2014 and men called their boyfriends, ‘babe.’ Steve never would have imagined he would love the way it made him feel.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Полезно знать](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395948) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



> **Mind the tags, this is a potentially triggering story. This is a Hydra Trash Party fic depicting rape, emotional manipulation, and sexual torture in explicit detail. This is a work of fantasy and the author does not condone any of these actions in real life.** I'm a little hesitant about posting this, for obvious reasons, but if you feel the urge to tell me this is terrible and rape-y, don't worry; I know.
> 
> If I've forgotten any tags, please let me know. I'll be adding more as I post each chapter, but I'm only human.
> 
> PS: JYFI, tagged for Bucky/Steve and Bucky/Steve/Rumlow, but that's not going to happen until later chapters.

“Finish your pasta, babe.”

It was 2014 and men called their boyfriends, ‘babe.’ Steve never would have imagined he would love the way it made him feel. Their ‘on the down-low’ boyfriends, anyway. Steve and Brock were nothing if not discrete. Hell, not even Nat knew about the two of them, and it felt like she knew everything. Steve smiled and took another bite of the spaghetti, walking over with his bowl to where Brock was tapping away on his tablet.

“Sure thing, _doll_ ,” Steve quipped.

“Fuck, you’re old.”

“Takes one to know one.” Steve grinned down at him, and Brock swatted at his arm before going back to his report. Steve settled down next to him on the couch and ate quietly.

“Hey, what’s in this? It’s good.”

“Italian sausage. I know how much you like it in you,” Brock replied with a leer.

“Don’t be crude.”

“You love it.”

Steve hummed. “Yeah, sure, finish your damn report.”

“You feeling frisky?” Steve did not respond, save for sucking in a long noodle noisily. Brock quirked an eyebrow at him. “Now I’m just gonna make you wait for it.” Steve groaned and Brock chuckled. “Finish your pasta, boy.”

“Not ‘babe’ anymore?”

“Maybe you can earn it back.”

Steve hummed again and kept working on the pasta. “You not gonna eat?”

“I’ll get some in a bit. Wanna work up an appetite.” They exchanged a grin before Brock went back to his report.

Steve had not liked Brock at first. There was something that was just _off_ about the older man that Steve could not put his finger on. But they worked well together, and after a while Steve wondered if perhaps whatever it was that was off was just him feeling something new. Brock was crass and had stopped treating him like Captain America after about three days. And he made Steve laugh; like, really laugh. Laughing so hard he could feel it in his stomach afterwards, and Steve had been certain he would never feel that way again.

Maybe he would tell Natasha about the two of them. He thought she would be happy for him. He was feeling happy for himself. This was easy. Brock was fun. It felt alright.

He finished the spaghetti and fought back a yawn as he stood to clean his dish.

“Hey, just stick it in the sink and head to the bed. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”

“Hmm. And how would you like me Agent Rumlow?” Steve asked with a smile, leaning down over the back of the couch to murmur in Brock’s ear.

“Just go over to the bed and wait for me. We’ve got time.”

* * *

Brock always seemed to be pushing him into new experiences too. Steve believed he would not be able to feel anything again, but after a few months with Brock he was feeling things he did not even know were possible. Some of them were great — the things Brock could do with his mouth and with a plug should be illegal; and nipple clamps? that was definitely in the top ten things Steve loved about this century — but some of them were not.

•••

_“Hnnng, Brock, wait. Stop, I can’t—“_

_The vibrator he had been pressing against Steve’s cock was instantly gone and Steve let out a shaky breath of relief. It was overwhelming, more pain than pleasure against his body’s heightened sensitivity._

_“Too much?” Steve nodded, collapsing back on the bed, blushing hard and looking away. “No, it’s good you told me,” Brock replied reasonably._

_“I really thought I could handle that.”_

_“It’s alright. We’re learning.”_

_“But you were really into it— I should’ve—“_

_“Relax. I’m looking for some good ways to make you scream. We’ll figure it out. It’s good to know.”_

•••

_“Rumlow, Christ, I’m not wearing a gag or blindfold. I already know I don’t like ‘em.”_

_“Oh? There something you ain’t telling me?”_

_“No, I’m shooting straight. No gags, no blindfolds. They make me uncomfortable.”_

_“Okay. Good to know_

_“Besides, I’m sure you can think of better things to do with my mouth.”_

_He grinned. “Consider it dropped.”_

•••

_“Wait, Brock. I don’t like that. Stop. Stop!”_

_“Okay, no problem.” Brock put the ice cube back in the bowl and took a towel and wiped down the wet trail of terrifyingly cold water from his chest. Steve had started shaking on the bed, erection wilting. “Woah, okay babe. It’s alright. No ice cubes.”_

_“S-sorry.”_

_“Don’t be sorry, it’s good to know.”_

* * *

Steve stretched his arms over his head after putting his bowl in the sink with a clatter and yawned again. His limbs felt heavy.

“Shit, I might be more tired than I thought,” he called out as he walked through the small studio apartment to the bed.

“No, don’t give me that. Perk up, babe. It’s been days since we got to do anything.”

Steve smiled, taking his shoes off by the dresser and shuffling over to the bed. He paused, blinking. His vision went a little hazy around the edges. He shook his head trying to clear his mind, but it made things worse. He pitched over, barely catching himself on the edge of the bed. He crawled onto it and sat down, head spinning.

“Brock,” he called out. Even his voice did not sound right.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Something’s wrong.” His body was growing hot and flushed and he could feel a sheen of sweat on his brow. He felt a hand on his chest. Brock. When had he gotten there? He could hear everything, he could feel everything. It was hitting him like a sack of bricks and making the blood under his skin churn. “Brock— what—“

“You’re fine babe. Just lie back. I got you.”

“It’s hot— what’s—“

“Let’s get that shirt off.”

“What’s happening?”

Brock’s hands were on him and he was shirtless, pushed back down on the bed. Things were spinning. The change was so fast. He was going to pass out, he was sure. He couldn’t lift his arms, _I can’t lift my arms!_ He could feel his heart already pounding in his chest and everything was telling him to run but he couldn’t. And he felt so hot all of a sudden, his nipples were taut, his breath coming heavy in his chest, and—

“Christ you could cut diamonds with that thing.”

 _God, when had that happened?_ Steve looked down at his crotch and saw his jeans tenting. Seeing it now he could feel his cock straining against the rough fabric.

“Brock, what’s going on?” he slurred back.

“Just something to make you feel more. Didn’t think it’d work this fast.”

“You coulda told me…”

“I just wanna make you feel good, okay babe? I want you to let go. Don’t be scared, okay?”

“Uh—“ he did not say _okay._ It was not okay, and some part of him far away knew that. His head fell back down on the bed, his eyes could not focus.

He ran a hand along Steve’s ribs and Steve gasped and moaned. It was too much, he was shuddering on the bed. It was too much, it was too fast. All of his already-heightened senses were exploding. He was sure he was going to vibrate out of his skin. His cock felt so hard, he was sure even a puff of air would make him come.

“Brock, please,” he murmured. _Stop._

“What do you need, babe?”

“It’s too— too much— I can’t—“

“Shhh. You got this, you’re good, you got this.”

Steve whimpered on the bed, almost convulsing from the way his body was reacting to the drugs. What had happened? He had been fine, he was joking just a minute ago, he had been watching Brock work on his report and had eaten dinner. The spaghetti. _“Finish your pasta, babe._ ” Brock drugged his food. Steve felt sick. He didn’t like this. He didn’t want this. But it didn’t matter, he could barely focus, it was happening.

Brock’s hands were on his chest, everywhere, they were everywhere and he was quivering beneath them, completely helpless. He could not even push Brock away. It was like his skin was on fire wherever Brock’s skin met his. He shook his head, he did not like this, he did not want this. Another whimper tore through his lips.

“Shhh. You got this babe. You’re doing good.” He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the sheets beneath him, muscles shifting and tensing beneath his skin. “You want me to talk you through it?” Steve was not sure if he nodded or not, but Brock started whispering in his ear, hands wandering over his skin making Steve shudder and spasm on the bed. “You look like something else like this, babe. God, I could fucking eat you up. I’m gonna keep you like this forever, hard, and desperate, and happy, and cock-hungry.”

Now that Brock said it, Steve could feel it in him. He was desperate for it. He could not even piece together that he wanted to be fucked until Brock suggested it and now it was all that he could see in his mind’s eye. He moaned deeply, hips thrusting up into the air of their own accord. He could not stop himself. He could almost feel the chemicals in his system making him go blind with lust. It was too much, he was going to explode.

“You’d like that. You’d like that a lot huh?” He moaned in response, words failing him. “You like being pushed to the edge. You think you don’t, but you do. You need it. You’re so scared. I don’t want you to be scared anymore. Remember the little bullet vibe on your cock?” The image shot through Steve and he thrust up with a cry. “You wanted me to keep going. I could see it. You were saying no, but I knew you didn’t mean it.”

“Br-r-ock, wh-at?”

“You wanted me to push you then, you want me to push you now. This is it. This is the beginning of the push you’ve been waiting for.”

“What?”

His hand slid down and played at the skin where Steve’s pants ended. It was like being shocked with electricity, he squirmed but could not slide away, his body wouldn’t cooperate. That did nothing to help the panic rising in his mind. This was not Brock playing around in the bedroom, this was something different. He could not get away, he could barely function, barely think. Brock started undoing the button of his jeans and a high whine fell from Steve’s lips. He tried to focus and slowly brought his hand up, trying to push Brock’s away, but his limbs were so heavy. Brock laughed and took his wrist and put his hand back down on the bed, so far away from where he wanted it to be. His pants were unzipped and soon his cock was free. Brock pulled his pants down, bunching them at his ankles. Steve wanted to kick them free but he couldn’t. It felt like he was tied down.

 _You’ll metabolize this soon, you always do,_ he tried to reason with himself, but even then it did not seem like it would happen. He was sure he was about to spontaneously combust, his very nerves would catch fire and spread it into him, burning white hot until there was nothing left.

“You wanna come? You’re leaking everywhere. Think you can do it without me touching?”

“What?” Steve looked back down, there was a puddle of precum splashed across his stomach, and he had not even noticed. Even that happened too fast, there was too much on his stomach for the short time his cock had been free. His brain caught up with Brock’s words. “What?” he gasped again.

“Ahh, you just listen to me babe. I’ll take care of you. I’m gonna push you over the edge just talking. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

 _No. No it doesn’t._ Steve’s heart was pounding and his vision was blurring and his mind could not get past the panic, the pain from his hard cock, the terror of being unable to move his limbs the way he wanted to. 

He could feel Brock’s breath on the skin of his face, he could smell his aftershave and the alcohol he had been drinking. His hand was splayed over his stomach, near Steve’s cock but not touching it. The contact was like a stone pushing him down into the bed.

“Just think how nice it’ll be when you finally get to come. Think about all those times I’ve made you come before; shaking on the bed like you exploded. You want to be pushed. You’re so sensitive and it makes you hold back. You just gotta let go.”

* * *

_“Holy shit, Rumlow. Where’d you learn to do that?”_

_“A queen named Leroy in Jersey.”_

_“I didn’t even know my body could do that.”_

_“Christ, are you shaking?”_

_“It’s the serum, I feel everything way too much sometimes. And that was— wow…”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve wondered if his face would burn Brock’s lips his skin was so hot to the touch. He was sweating, certain it was steaming up from him, vaporizing over his firebrand skin.

Brock sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of Steve’s neck and Steve finally screamed for the first time that night. Brock drew blood, then sucked a sick bruise into Steve’s skin before lapping at it with his tongue. Steve shuddered. He felt sick. He did not want this. His eyes were stinging.

“Oh, baby. Are you crying?”

He was. It hurt. His skin was burning, he could not stop shaking, his cock ached, he did not know what was happening.

“Sh-hit Brock, you g-gotta stop.” _Please._

Brock leaned up on his elbow peering down at Steve. Steve could barely meet his eye for how bad his vision was blurring. He ran a hand through Steve’s hair, and Steve could not help but lean into the touch; the other man’s thick palm cradling his head was almost comforting.

Brock pressed his lips to Steve’s. Steve could taste his own blood on Brock’s mouth. It was gentle. It was too much.

Brock chuckled and pinched one of Steve’s nipples, hard. Steve screamed once more. Usually he loved it when Brock touched him there, but now? Now it was worse than being stabbed. He was falling apart. Everything felt too much and he was sure it was going to kill him right there on the bed. Brock slowly ran circles around his chest, squeezing his pecs and digging his nails into the skin.

Then his hand moved. It slid down Steve’s body, past his cock, and between his legs. Steve’s hips bucked up sharp and fast and he keened in the back of his throat when Brock brushed against his hole.

“S-stop,” he said. He could not even hear himself, he was not even sure the word made it past his throat.

Brock spit into his hand and started pressing into Steve with a finger. Steve sobbed, trying to squirm away. It felt good, too good, too much. One finger felt like it was as thick as a wrist; he was certain he was going to be split apart.

“Good boy. You like that, huh? I could keep you like this forever.”

From another world Steve thought he might have heard the top to a container of lube clicking open. He shuddered at the cold slick touching him after a second. It felt like ice, and it was growing colder as Brock started pressing it into him.

“I bought this just for you. It’s cooling lube. Because you liked the ice cubes so much.”

It was so cold against his skin, Steve started shaking even harder. He could not breathe. Brock was killing him, he knew it. He kept wanting to roll away, to run, and he couldn’t. He was sobbing on the bed, trying to pull back and all around him Brock was chuckling into his skin, pumping his ice cold fingers in and out of Steve.

He brushed that spot inside of him that made Steve see stars. Steve gasped, convulsing.

“There it is…”

“N-no—“ More of the cooling gel, more fingers, more brushes against his prostate. He could feel his balls growing tight. “Brock, B-brock.”

“Almost there, huh?” Steve sobbed again. He felt Brock slide closer to him, pressing his body against Steve’s, his rough clothes like sandpaper against his too hot skin. “That’s good, because I wanted to tell you something, and I want to see you come when I say it.”

“W-what are yo—?”

Brock’s hand was pounding inside of him, smashing against his prostate over and over and over. Brock was barely moving, but it felt like Steve was being impaled It hurt, it was cold, it was too much.

“Your head will clear up in a little bit, but this—” He grabbed Steve’s cock, digging his nails in and Steve screamed once more. “—this ain’t going anywhere for a long time.” Steve’s stomach flipped inside of him. “I got the techies to make it especially for you. Super-soldier aphrodisiac. I want you like this. Helpless, terrified, hard. Because I’m going to break you. They said you couldn’t break, you couldn’t be turned, but anyone can be turned.” His cock was growing harder, it was too much, it was too much. He gasped up into Brock’s neck as Brock continued to pump into him. He was close, he was so close. “Are you ready?”

Steve thought he might have nodded, or he might have been shaking his head, he was not sure. The cooling lube inside of him was making him feel nauseous, and the chemicals that made him run hotter were burning through him. White splotches of light started flashing behind his eyelids. Brock took his face in his other hand and forced Steve to meet his eye.

“Hail Hydra.”

He was coming. He was screaming. He could not breathe. Brock was right next to him, pumping him through his painful orgasm. He tried to flinch away but he couldn’t, Brock was everywhere.

 _Hail Hydra_. He hadn’t heard those words in years and Brock made him come with them in his ear. His orgasm felt like his body was glass and he was shattering, like being punched in the stomach. He could not stop himself from crying it hurt so badly, it felt like such a release, he was shaking so much, he was helpless on the bed, he was scared.

When it was finally over he crashed down, sinking into oblivion for a moment, for an hour, for a day, he could not be sure. Brock pulled his fingers out from him, and left the bed. Steve did not even want to open his eyes, he was not even sure he could. He had to get out of here.

A hand on his face, lips on his.

“Good boy,” Rumlow whispered. “You’re so good, babe.”

Steve slowly made his mouth start working again, “Brock, w-what are you doing? Why— why would you say that? Why are you—”

“It won’t be the last time,” Rumlow said. “Do you think I can make you come every time you hear it? Like the dog and the bell?”

“Stop, s-stop—”

Steve tried to push himself up off the bed, opening his eyes. He thought maybe his mind was growing clearer, and his limbs less heavy, but it was still impossible to move quickly. Rumlow easily pushed him down on the bed. Steve stared up at him as he reached over to the nightstand and opened a small case.

He pulled out a syringe.

“What the f—“ Steve was shaking his head, enough so it was making him dizzy as he desperately tried to push his noncooperative body away from Rumlow.

“This is just gonna make you sleep for a few hours,” he said, flicking the small tube with his nail, getting rid of air bubbles. He took a small alcohol wipe and ran it over the inside of Steve’s arm “I need you rested. We’ve got work to do. This is not going to be easy, but you need it.”

Steve’s brain was desperately telling his limbs to run, to pull away, to find the shield and smash it against Rumlow’s skull until it cracked, but it was useless. He tried to pull his arm back when Rumlow took his wrist. Rumlow laughed.

“And look, the drugs are working. You’re still hard. Miracles of modern science.”

Steve looked down, horrified that Rumlow was right. It was as if he had not come at all. He thought he was going to be sick. He did not even realize that Rumlow was looking for a vein for the sedative until he felt a prick in his arm. He gasped and tried to pull away once more, but Rumlow’s grip was firm.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Go to sleep, babe. I’m gonna take care of you. I need you knocked out before the initial burn of the drugs wears off.”

“What?”

“I’m taking care of you. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Good to know.”

His vision went dark. The drugs were so fast. The last thing he saw was his boyfriend grinning down at him before his head fell back onto the pillow; the fan spinning lazily counterclockwise above him. The last thing he felt was his body shaking on the bed and the ice cold remnants of the cooling lube inside of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve woke up fast. His eyes snapped open, and his body lurched on the bed. He could move; his limbs were his again, only he was still trapped, naked. He looked and saw metal cuffs on his wrists and ankles, connecting him with short lengths of chain to the metal bed frame.

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself.

He pulled with all his might but could not break himself free. He was all adrenaline, pulling madly at the cuffs until he was panting on the bed, wrists sore and chaffed. He could break anything, he could run through walls, why couldn’t he get himself out of this? Were the chains too strong, or was he too weak? 

He thought back to what had happened before and felt sick to his stomach. Were there still drugs in his system? Even now as he glanced down his body, he saw his cock was still painfully hard. None of the heat and confusion from before was there, which made his chemical induced arousal almost worse. He wanted to vomit. He needed to get out of here. His mind was no longer swimming; clarity and reason fueled his panic further. He shuddered and pulled some more on the cuffs, even though he knew they had no give. He only froze when a familiar voice interrupted him.

“Good, you’re awake.”

Steve stared at Rumlow who sauntered over to the bed and sat next to Steve. Steve tried to move away, but there was nowhere he could go. Rumlow put a calloused hand on the center of his chest, and Steve shuddered beneath it.

“Rumlow, what are you doing?”

“You look good like this.”

“This isn’t funny.” He shuddered again when Brock started running his hand up and down Steve’s chest. “Brock, stop it!”

“You’re enjoying yourself.”

“You fucking drugged me.”

His hand was ghosting over the skin on Steve’s inner thigh, and Steve trembled. “Relax, babe.”

“Stop it!” he yelled.

Rumlow gave a small laugh. He pressed his lips to Steve’s. Steve tried to jerk his head away, but Rumlow grabbed him by the hair, holding his head hard and biting into Steve’s mouth. His teeth sank into Steve’s lower lip, and with a sharp flash of pain, Steve could taste blood.

Rumlow wiped his hand on Steve’s mouth and then brought it down to Steve’s cock and started to jerk him off, barely slick from the blood of his lip. Steve hissed at the contact, trying to fight the way his body jerked into the air for more.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Steve forced himself to stare at the ceiling, focus on anything but Rumlow’s hand on his cock. “Do you think we can get you to come every time you hear ‘Hail Hydra’?”

“Fuck. Rumlow, you don’t know what that means. You can’t say—“ he gasped as Rumlow squeezed the head of his cock — “that. You don’t know—”

“I know exactly what it means. Hydra means _order._ And you’ve been needing some of that for a long while. You’re so scared all the time.”

“Hydra’s gone. They lost the war. I was fucking there.”

“Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.”

Steve stared at him. “You’re insane.”

“Or I’m right.” Steve could not respond. Rumlow picked up the pace and Steve already knew he was getting close, and he hated it. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, tasting the blood from his already healing split lip. Rumlow pinched a nipple before leaning down to run his teeth along Steve’s jaw. Steve shuddered once more, feeling his orgasm coming. He could feel Rumlow breathing in his ear. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and turn away when Rumlow whispered,

_“Hail Hydra.”_

Steve came. Rumlow knew exactly how he worked, knew exactly how to make it happen. He swallowed his grunt and tried not to shake on the bed as Rumlow coaxed his cock through the orgasm.

“Good boy,” Rumlow cooed, as Steve crashed back down, limbs quivering. “You’re doing so good.” Steve stared at his bicep, clenching his jaw, taking measured breaths. “Aw, don’t be like that. Maybe when this is all over I’ll take you some place nice. Somewhere warm.”

Steve tensed underneath him;

* * *

_“You never take me anywhere nice, Agent Rumlow,” Steve joked taking off his helmet to brush away the ash and rubble that had littered down on them from the recently exploded building._

_“You wanna go some place nice?” Brock asked sliding up to Steve, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. “I can take you somewhere. Somewhere warm? You like that?”_

_Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling. “Yeah, I’d like that.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“You like that?”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut.

Rumlow left for a moment. Steve almost let himself relax. He pulled a little at the cuffs again. They were solid. The chains had no weak links, the frame of the bed was thick and immovable. Steve remembered the first and last time he and Brock had played with handcuffs. He broke them within the first two minutes. He and Brock had laughed about it then.

These were not toy handcuffs. He looked at them more closely. He had never seen anything like them. Thicker than any other kind of cuff he and the Strike Team had used, with a small blinking light near the hinge.

“Adamantium Magcuffs,” Rumlow said coming back to the bed. Steve jerked at the feel of a warm, wet cloth rubbing the tacky cum off of his stomach. “Only the best for my guy.”

He bent down and kissed Steve on the stomach when it was clean, lips soft and reverent. Steve could only stare, horrified. Brock used to do that. Brock would do that after they had sex. Before _this_. It was so easy. It was as if, for a single moment, none of this was happening and things had gone back to the way they were. The way they were supposed to be.

“What are you doing?” Steve finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“They didn’t think you could be turned. They were going to kill you.”

“Who?”

“I told them anyone can be turned,” Brock continued. “Anyone can be broken. Even Captain America. They said if I could do it, you’d be mine. And you and me we’re so alike. We both love a good fucking challenge.” He pulled Steve’s hair, jerking his head to face him, gripping tight enough to make Steve hiss in pain. “And I want you with me when the world changes.”

He kissed Steve, hard and deep, and Steve could not pull away. Rumlow straddled him, and rocked his hips against Steve’s cock. He was hard again. No, he was still hard. His erection had never flagged after he came. He jerked under Rumlow when the man’s rough pants sandpapered over his sensitive skin gasping into the other man’s mouth. Rumlow’s hands were holding his head still before moving down and circling his neck. 

* * *

 

_“Any hard limits?”_

_“Choking, I guess.”_

_“Why’s that?”_

_“Probably from having asthma. I like breathing.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“No, don’t!” Steve cried out before Rumlow tightened his grip. He tried to pull away again, but it was hopeless. He sucked in a gasping breath as best he could, but Rumlow’s hands were squeezing, and his lips were too close to Steve’s face, and he kept grinding down on Steve’s cock. Steve thrashed against the cuffs, frantic, trying to reach Rumlow’s arms and pull them away from his throat. A deep corner of his brain knew he could hold his breath for a long time, one of the enhancements of the serum, but that meant nothing now. Panic overruled any logic. He could feel his lungs constricting, and each ragged breath he tried to pull in smelled like Rumlow’s aftershave, and that unnameable scent that hung from his skin, like hot chocolate and musk, and the air did not reach his chest.

“Come on, you’re doing good.”

Rumlow turned back, pressing his weight into Steve’s stomach, leaving one hand tight and heavy on Steve’s throat and reaching around to grab Steve’s cock with the other.

Steve was aware of little things then. His feet scrambling on bed as much as the half foot of chain would allow, tangling in the sheets. The exposed brick wall above him, the color of the ceiling. The way the fan spun slowly above him. The fern in the blue pot that Rumlow kept on the nightstand.

His balls grew tight once more. He shook and squirmed against Rumlow. His vision was going dark around the edges, his chest burned.

“Ready, babe?” Rumlow whispered. He leaned back down to Steve’s face. Steve shook his head as best he could under Rumlow’s grip, he knew what was coming. Rumlow’s hand on his cock was pumping faster, and Steve’s hips jerked up on their own. Rumlow let go of his throat. Steve took in a painful, blessed breath; eyes going hazy with the sudden oxygen.

_“Hail Hydra.”_

He came with a sob and a groan. He saw white behind his eyelids and his whole body was quaking on the bed. He kept gasping for breath, desperately trying to keep his lungs filled. At some point he had reached beyond the cuffs and was gripping onto the chains at his wrists.

Rumlow ran his hands up and own Steve’s trembling arms. “Shh. You got this, babe. You’re doing so good.” He pressed his lips to Steve’s temple and murmured in his ear. “Do you remember when I kissed you the first time?” Steve tried to pull away, but Rumlow was right there, his words leaking into his mind unwanted. “You were scared then too, do you remember?”

He pinched Steve’s neck, digging his nails into the skin; the sharp pain made Steve jerk beneath him. “Do you remember?” he asked again, voice too loud in Steve’s ear.

“Y-yes,” Steve rasped.

“You were scared then too. You’re always so scared. It almost made me laugh, big guy like you practically shaking in his boots. God, I wanted to pound your wide-eyed virgin ass right then and there.”

“I’m not scared, I’m fucking pissed off.”

“Steve, I know you. You jump outta planes, and you fight like you got nothing to lose, but I know you. You do that shit so no one will see.”

“No one will see what?”

He cupped Steve’s face in his palm, ran a thumb over Steve’s lips. Their eyes met. Steve glared, trying his best to burn holes into Rumlow’s skull. But Rumlow met his stare, did not flinch. But finally he smiled, feral, all teeth down at Steve.

“See that you’re fucking terrified.”

He leaned down and kissed Steve on the forehead and got off the bed, and walked over to his dresser, starting to rifle through the drawers. Steve let out a shuddering breath, feeling more exposed than ever, and raw both inside and out.

Something landed on the bed next to Steve, then another. Steve glanced over and saw Rumlow tossing things from his dresser onto the bed. A small rectangular box, medical tape, the nipple clamps, the small bullet vibe Rumlow had used on him before, a large plug they had used sometimes when they were feeling frisky, the cooling lube, a strip of cloth, a ball with leather straps.

Steve’s heart thudded madly in his chest as Rumlow sat back on the bed, coating his fingers in the lube and reaching down between his legs. A hiss and a jerk and Steve was writhing to get away from the cold gel. Rumlow was ruthlessly scissoring inside of him, stretching him painfully. A groan sounded deep in Steve’s throat from behind clenched teeth and Rumlow laughed.

“This could be really fun if you just let go.”

Steve did not respond. He watched as Rumlow covered the plug in the lube and began to work it inside of Steve. He clenched down, fighting against the intrusion as best he could, but Rumlow grabbed onto his cock and jerked his attention away just enough to push past the tight ring of muscle. Steve groaned once more, biting back a shout. It pushed further and further in, getting wider and wider before finally shrinking back down. Steve was not stretched enough so his muscles clenched painfully around it. It was so cold inside of him, and worse, it was just long enough to brush against his prostrate. He was shuddering on the bed; shivering from the cold, arousal welling deep in his stomach.

He was still hard. The drugs were doing their job. He tried to focus his hate on them, and on Rumlow, rather than his own body’s betrayal. Rumlow attached the nipple clamps. Steve forced himself not to flinch when they pinched down, squeezing his eyes shut against the familiar, horrible, wonderful pain.

Rumlow grabbed the ball with the leather straps. Steve glanced at it for a moment. It was metal, it shined the same way that the cuffs on his wrists did. It was only when Rumlow brought it up to his lips that Steve realized it was a gag and snapped his mouth shut. With a sigh, Rumlow sat up, leaned forward and pressed all of his weight down on a hand Steve’s neck, holding the ball gag over his lips with his other hand.

He couldn’t breathe again. Steve tried to pull away, instinct taking control, but he was trapped, arms tugging futility at the chains.

“Come on, babe. Open up.”

Steve shook his head and thrashed against Rumlow. His vision was already starting to blur; from the lack of oxygen or just the panic he was not sure. Just when he thought he was going to pass out, Rumlow’s hand was gone from his neck, reaching down his body and flicking one of the nipple clamps. Steve yelped, pulling in a breath of air, Rumlow chasing after it with the ball gag. He bucked and jerked as Rumlow reached around and tightened the straps around his head. Steve could not stop shaking. It was too big in his mouth. He kept shaking his head trying to dislodge it, pulling breaths in frantically through his nose but it felt like he was not getting enough. His mouth was too full. It was almost worse than the choking.

“Shhh. Good boy.” He could not even glare at Rumlow. He stared up at the other man, wide-eyed, shaking. Rumlow ran a hand through Steve’s hair; it was almost comforting. He bit down against the gag, but it was impossibly hard against his teeth. “You look so good like this.”

Rumlow pressed a kiss to the side of Steve’s mouth, where the ball met leather, met his lips. Steve flinched away.

He leaned back and found the lube once more, dropping the container on Steve’s stomach. Steve craned his neck to watch. Rumlow pulled up the small box and opened it, turning it around and showing Steve the contents before setting it down on Steve’s chest: three small metal rods. Steve did not know what to make of it, nor did he like the small smile Rumlow shot at him before he moved down and took Steve’s cock in his hand. Rumlow put the box down and picked up the lube. He squirted a small bit onto his finger and pressed it to the head of Steve’s cock, pulling back skin to reveal the slit.

Steve screamed behind the gag; the cold gel _there_ was too much. He could feel his eyes watering, his limbs shaking.

“Hold still or you’re gonna lose your dick,” Rumlow said, squeezing Steve’s cock. “I’m serious, babe.”

Steve looked at Rumlow and forced himself to go still at the look in the other man’s eye. All his base instincts were firing as Rumlow held onto his cock, the warning hovering in the air. He was still panting though, it could not be helped. His breaths came fast and heavy, heaving in his chest but not filling his lungs. Rumlow gave a small nod, before reaching towards the box. It opened, the hinge squeaking softly and he pulled out the thinest of the three rods, and started coating it in the lube. Steve realized what was happening only a moment before it happened. A high whine left his throat, muffled by the gag as Rumlow brought the sound to the slit of Steve’s cock. He was almost grateful for the gag then. It kept his pleading from being heard. All he wanted to do was scream, beg, _“No, don’t. Please don’t!”_ but it was just noise around the gag.

He could not tell whether it was worse to squeeze his eyes shut or stare as Rumlow started working the thin metal rod into his cock. He was spasming on the bed, muscles tight and trembling on their own as he stared, as it tried to keep still, as he tried to force Rumlow to stop by sheer force of will alone. The cold lube was inside of him, the rod was inside of him, slowly moving down, down, down, filling his hard cock in a way Steve did not even know was possible.

He was whimpering when Rumlow was finished, when the rod ended with a small ball at the tip sitting on the end of his penis, noises spilling out from around the gag without his leave, frantic, animal. Rumlow ran his hand through Steve’s hair once more. Steve closed his eyes, head falling back on the pillow behind him, holding back a sob. Rumlow pressed his lips to each of Steve’s eyelids before moving back down his body.

Steve watched, blinking away the wet from his eyelashes as Rumlow took the small bullet vibrator and the medical tape. He pressed the vibe against the base of Steve’s cock and winding the tape around it.

“Almost done, babe. One last thing.”

Steve saw him hold up the strip of cloth. A blindfold. He shook his head, but even Rumlow could tell he was resigned to it by now. Rumlow leaned down and kissed Steve on the temple, resting his forehead against Steve’s for a moment before he finally leaned back and brought the blindfold to Steve’s eyes. Steve went lax as his vision went dark. He hated it. The cuffs might have left him physically helpless before, but the blindfold was so much worse. He could not see, he could not anticipate. Now all he knew was the smell of his own sweat on his skin, the sound of Rumlow shifting on the bed, the feel of the sounding rod, the plug, the clamps, the gag, the blindfold itself against his skin.

“If I had known the blindfold would calm you down so much, I would have done it hours ago. Sorry, babe.” Rumlow almost sounded contrite, running a hand down Steve’s chest; all Steve could do was feel it. He was limp, hearing, feeling, smelling everything. He could taste the chrome-y metal of the gag pressing down on his tongue.

“Are you ready?” Rumlow asked him softly.

Steve did not know what Rumlow meant. He shuddered as Rumlow’s hand slid down his abdomen, never breaking contact. Steve always knew where he was, now he knew where he was going. All he could do was press his face into his arm as Rumlow turned on the bullet vibe to the lowest setting. It was still wave after wracking wave of sensation and Steve’s body lurched with a whimper, muscles in his stomach jerking inward, before Rumlow pressed him back down into the bed. His hand trailed further still and moved between Steve’s legs. He was fiddling with the base of the buttplug. Steve wondered at what he was doing vaguely, from far away before he felt it. The plug started vibrating too. Steve sobbed into his arm as the feeling shot through his body, pressing against his prostrate. He would have come again in minutes if the sounding rod was not there.

“Shhh. It’s okay babe. You got this.” Steve whined around the gag, shaking his head limply on the pillow. “I’ll be back tonight.”

Steve froze as much as his body would let him. _What?_

“I’ve got to go to work.”

It felt as if he was being choked again, his stomach flipping madly inside of him. He gripped at the chains around the cuffs, shaking his head, moaning against the feel of the vibrator. He could not see, he could not move, he was trapped. _No, no, no._ Rumlow bent down and kissed his cheek, cradling Steve’s head in his hand.

“I already filled out the form to get you some vacation time, so no one will miss you at work. You’ve earned it. You’re doing so good.” Steve pressed his face into Rumlow’s hand, whimpering. There was still some part of him that thought maybe Rumlow would come to his senses, realize he was wrong, he was hurting Steve. He felt Rumlow’s face against his, felt the stubble on his check scratch Steve’s skin as he smiled.

“You’re doing so good, babe.”

* * *

_“Hey, maybe wake me up when you leave next time, would you?”_

_Brock blinked, “Sorry. I didn’t want to bother you. You looked like you hadn’t slept in months.”_

_“Yeah, but when I woke up you were gone. You— you didn’t have to leave at all. I’d rather—”_

_“Yeah?” Brock said softly. Steve looked away and bit his lip. “Okay.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Don’t be. I bet you don’t like being left alone more than most people.”_

_“Something like that,” Steve replied. “I just—“_

_“Okay, babe. Hey. It’s okay. Won’t leave you alone again. It’s good to know.”_

* * *

Steve felt the bed shift, and felt Rumlow’s hands trail along his body one last time before they were gone. His eyes were wet behind the blindfold, a sob choked off behind the gag. He heard Rumlow walk around the small apartment, it sounded so familiar. He picked up his keys and phone from the table by the door, like he did every morning he left for work, he patted down his pockets making sure he had a spare pen and his wallet, like he did every morning before he left for work. Steve could see it happening, he knew what it looked like; he had seen it dozens of times before.

The door opened, the door closed, the lock clicked.

Steve was alone.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was sinking. He panted through his nose, but it still felt like he could not breathe. His whole body was shaking, echoing the vibrations from the plug inside of him and the bullet vibe taped to his cock. The blindfold was wet on his face, the gag heavy in his mouth.

_You’re fucking terrified._

_This would be more fun if you just let go…_

Steve thought about it. He was not even sure he knew how to let go. Last time he let that happen he crashed a plane into the ocean. He was shaking so badly. Had he been shaking in the plane when he crashed? And which was worse? It felt like his whole body was too heavy, but floating away all at once. He closed his eyes under the blindfold. He tried to make his feet stop sliding on the sheets beneath him, damp with sweat. If he could just let go, if he could just go still perhaps it would be better. The cold lube inside him was tingling and terrible.

He could make himself freeze again.

 _No._ He clenched his fists, forcing himself to calm down desperately, to focus. Steve made himself work through everything that had happened. Brock was clearly out of his mind. There was no other option. Steve felt sick to his stomach as he thought about their time together. Had he been planning this from the beginning? Steve tried to recall every conversation, every exchange from the deep, impossible to reach corner of his rational mind; the part of him that was not consumed with the overwhelming sensation running through his body. Had none of it been real? An elaborate plot? Had Rumlow just been working to gather enough information to make this the worst possible experience? Just planning until he found the right time to do this to Steve? Just waiting for Steve to trust him, to fall in lo—

He forced back the bile that had risen in his throat. Some minute shift in his body pressed the vibrating plug deeper against Steve’s prostate and he groaned.

There was another option though. Steve was almost unable to even entertain it. Rumlow could really be Hydra. Hydra could still be active. It was impossible, but then again, so was Steve. Steve should be dead for all intents and purposes, so why couldn’t the same be said of Hydra? He felt like he was going to vomit. It almost made sense. How else could Rumlow get drugs that could knock Steve out? Get shackles that could keep him down? And if Rumlow was a mole in SHIELD he had to get out, he had to tell someone. He would have to tell them about this.

Could he tell anyone about this? A flush of shame shot through him as he groaned around the gag, as the vibrations coursed through his very veins. 

He squeezed his eyes shut once more, forcing himself to focus. His body needed to come. He needed to come. He tried not to think about it because it made it feel that much worse. It was like being on fire. It was the drugs, it was the stimulation, it was the fact that he could not come even if he wanted to. He thought maybe he could, even with the sounding rod there, but it was too close, it was _there_ and he did not know what would happen if he came with it in and he so desperately did not want to find out. Everything jumbled together and he was certain he was going to fall apart right there on the bed.

* * *

_“You’re okay with that, right?” Steve asked looking down at his coffee mug._

_“Staying quiet about this? Yeah, of course.”_

_“I’m not ashamed of you.”_

_“Gee thanks,” Brock replied with a grin. “You’re not that terrible yourself. I mean, except for that pimple.”_

_“What pimple?” Steve reached for a spoon and tried to look at his face in the reflection before Brock moved around the table and took his hands, setting the spoon aside with a laugh._

_“I’m joking, Christ. You’re flawless, Rogers.” His hands were mussing Steve’s hair; he was stepping in between Steve’s knees looking down at him. Steve could not meet his eye. “Look at me. Hey, look at me.” Steve finally looked up. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m old, I was in the army during Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. I know all about keeping shit like this on the down-low, okay? You don’t need to grab my hand and march me around at Pride. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t—“ he added when Steve tried to argue. “I get it. I really do. You’re Captain America. Even if you could come outta the closet do you think the SHIELD PR team’d let you say you’re with a guy like me?”_

_“I would. It’s not—“_

_“I know you would, babe. That’s what I like about you.”_

_“Brock,” Steve sighed, leaning into Brock’s hand. “Are you sure it’s okay?”_

_“I’m sure. I don’t mind secrets, Cap.”_

_“I hate them.”_

_“Good to know.” Brock ran a thumb over his lips. “Are you okay?” Steve nodded into his hand. “God, you’re perfect.”_

_“Pimples and all?” Steve asked with a smile._

_“Can you even get pimples?”_

_“I don’t know. I don’t have any right? You were joking?”_

_“Yes. You’re fine.”_

_“I don’t think I could live it down if Natasha saw a pimple on me.”_

_“She’s too much, that woman, sometimes. Scares the shit outta me, what about you?”_

_“Yeah, maybe a little. But she’s my friend.”_

_Brock leaned down and kissed Steve’s lips. He tasted like coffee and toothpaste._

* * *

Steve sobbed, screaming behind the gag as he yanked on the cuffs once more. He kept pulling, jerking his wrists over and over, ready to break them if it meant getting free, taking off the blindfold, spitting out the gag. How had he let this happen to him? What had he been thinking? Why hadn’t he seen Brock for what he really was? Why was he still hoping this was all a big mistake?

Every movement caused his body to shift, the plug to move, his dick to jostle which sent waves of sensation through him. Actually the sounding rod felt like it was sending waves of sensation through him when he so much as thought about it. He had not even known something like that existed. He wondered if the timing had been different if it would have been one of those things Rumlow would have introduced when they were in bed together, or if he always planned on keeping it from Steve until this moment. Would he have tried to convince Steve that people liked this? He could not imagine how. It was solid, and immovable and made his heavy cock seem that much harder. It was _inside_ of his cock. It was terrifying at the most base level of Steve’s caveman brain.

He lay panting on the bed. He wanted to see. He wanted to look at the cuffs and see if they would break if he pulled a certain way, see if there was any straining in the thick metal. He wanted to rip the blindfold off. It was maddening here in the dark, alone with his imagination. Everything felt so much worse, so much more when he could not see. He vaguely remembered reading his charts and Dr. Erskine’s notes after he had gotten the serum. He was sure there was information in his file; had Rumlow read it too? He had heightened sensitivity. He could hear more, see further, even smell better than normal humans. And feeling? He had just started working with Bucky to gauge windspeed and direction on his skin alone before they both died. He was sensitive to temperature and breezes, but it was never like this, never this overwhelming.

Now he could feel everything to a point where he was sure he was going to pass out. Taking away one of his senses was so terribly cruel to the others. He could feel his body straining to compensate for the loss of vision to a point where it was painful. Add the plug inside him, the clamps on his nipples, the vibrator, the sound and he was lost. Even the gag _felt_ too much, thick and heavy on his tongue and teeth.

He had not liked blindfolds before the serum though. When he was small they left him feeling vulnerable in a way his size never had. He was fine if he could see. That’s all he needed. He kept his eyes open whenever possible. He kept his eyes open in a fight, he kept his eyes open when Bucky died for as long as he could. He needed to see. He had never grown out of it.

But he could not see now. There was nothing to focus on except the feeling burning through his body. He had no idea how much time had passed. Above all else, above all the sensations he was feeling, what he felt the most, and what terrified him beyond all the physical elements was feeling himself slowly, surely give up resisting. The feeling of sinking. The feeling of losing himself.

* * *

Hours had passed when Steve finally heard the door open. Really heard it this time; in the past few hours he thought he had heard it only to be engulfed in silence and the buzzing of the vibrators. Nothing felt real. The hours and hours of silence was filled with whispers, and the room was filled with invisible hands ghosting on his skin. He was certain he was going insane with the way he twitched at every imagined noise or breath of air.

He did not mean to whimper when Rumlow sat down on the bed and put a hand on his chest, flinching hard at the first real touch of skin against his own in so long.

“God, you should see yourself,” Rumlow whispered. “You look like a miracle.”

Steve tugged on the cuffs, trying to pull himself away but his body was wrecked, his muscles sore and stiff from trembling. Rumlow undid the nipple clamps and Steve cried out at the terrible feeling of blood rushing back, needle stab painful, hot and cruel. When Rumlow ran a thick tongue over each nub Steve thought it would kill him. He jerked mindlessly up into Rumlow’s mouth, and felt Rumlow laughing against his chest, felt it rumbling against his ribs.

“Did you miss me?”

His hands were on Steve’s ribs, and he slowly mouthed his way around Steve’s chest, going back and forth between his nipples, reaching up to scrape his teeth against Steve’s collarbone and neck. He reached up behind Steve’s head and undid the clasp of the gag, pulling the ball from Steve’s mouth, a trail of drool following it as he took it away. He kissed Steve’s swollen, chapped lips and put his tongue in his loose mouth. Steve moaned, he could not help but press up into Rumlow’s mouth, into his chest, desperate for contact, for touch, before he jerked away, gasping, remembering everything that had happened.

Rumlow laughed again and brought his hands to Steve’s face, cradling his head gently. Steve could not pull away even if he wanted to. The touch felt so perfect after hours without anything except the cold, the inanimate vibrations of the toys, the dark of the blindfold. He would have welcomed it even if Rumlow was pulling his hair again, biting into his lips, his neck.

“I bet you want to come, don’t you? You look like you’re gonna explode.” Steve jerked, his mouth fell open in a silent scream when Rumlow took his cock gingerly in his hand. It was too much, he was whimpering, writhing on the bed. “Shh, it’s okay, babe. You’re doing good.”

He started kissing down Steve’s neck, then his chest, slowly going further and further down. “We have a problem though,” Rumlow whispered into his skin. “You don’t get to come until someone says the magic words.” He moved lower and lower; Steve was trembling under him, only half hearing his words. “And I plan on having my mouth full, you see.”

_What?_

“So what are we going to do about that?”

His lips touched Steve’s cock, gently pressing against the sounding rod, and Steve screamed, half from oversensitive waves of feeling, half from blind fear. It was too much, it was going to kill him. Rumlow’s lips, his tongue, his mouth was ghosting over Steve’s sensitive cock. It was beyond feeling; it was white-hot pain and pleasure and terror. He gripped the chains attached to the cuffs and whimpered, desperately trying to jerk away.

“You know you can come, right?” Rumlow told him. “The moment I hear those words I’ll let you come.”

_What?_

“N-no.” It was the first word he said in hours and Steve almost did not recognize his own voice. He sounded wrecked, scared, different. “P-please.”

Rumlow licked a thick stripe up his cock, past the bullet vibe. Steve screamed. Steve thought he would die.

“You know how good I can be with my mouth,” he said between licks, deaf to Steve’s whimpering. “It’ll be the best orgasm you ever had. I bet you’ll see stars.”

Steve sobbed into his arm. Even Rumlow’s breath on his cock was too much.

“P-please. I ca-can’t,” he rasped, hiccuping, desperate, needy. He hated the way he sounded. He was not supposed to sound this way.

“You can, babe. You’re doing so good.” He closed his mouth around the head of Steve’s cock, tonguing the round head of the sounding rod and Steve cried out, sobbing, thrashing.

“No-o! Oh god, please!”

Rumlow reached down and pressed against the button of the bullet vibe and it buzzed faster, harder against his cock and Steve wailed. His wrists were burning for how hard he was pulling against the restraints, his muscles ached the way he spasmed so.

“You can make this stop, babe. You’re doing so good, but you gotta let go.”

“No, no—“

“Come on, babe.” He licked Steve again. “Two words.” And again. “Just two small words and I’ll let you come.” And again.

He sobbed, “Pl-ease, d-don’t make me.”

“You’re the one doing this to yourself.” His mouth was so hot against his skin Steve thought he would blister, he would melt away. “Let go. Don’t be scared. Make this stop.”

“B-brock. Please.”

“Let go.”

He kissed the inside of Steve’s thigh, and that was so much worse. His hands were warm and gentle against Steve’s stomach, at the crook of his hip where his thigh met his torso. He could feel each touch of Rumlow’s calloused hands traveling up his burnt out nerves and back between his muscles and bones and skin. 

“Say it.”

Steve sobbed, he could feel his tears welling under the blindfold and trickling down his face. He could feel the scratch of Brock’s stubble against the inside of his thigh, his breath against his cock, against his testicles. He realized after a moment that Brock was holding his cock still, saving him from the violent quacking wracking his body.

“Now, Steve,” Brock whispered.

A gasp tore from his throat. He felt like he was collapsing onto the bed, deep into the void. His muscles weren’t his own, his body wasn’t his own. He just wanted it to stop.

_“Hail H-hydra…”_

* * *

In an instant, Brock was pulling out the sounding rod, and tearing off the bullet vibe, swallowing Steve’s cock down. Steve was coming down Brock’s throat, the heat and the moisture throwing him finally, violently over the edge. His whole body was impossibly more tense, taut and stretched and rigid and sore. Steve thought he might have been screaming but he could not hear it. The world was white behind the blindfold and it felt like lightning was burning through him.

Later, hours or minutes or seconds or years, Brock was pressing his lips to Steve’s trembling face, pressing his body flush against Steve’s, rough clothes chafing his skin.

“Good job, babe. You did good. You did so good.”

Steve was crashing down, lost, disoriented as Brock pushed him over, rolling him on his stomach. His arms crossed in front of him and his legs crossed at the ankles. Brock lifted him onto his knees and pulled out the plug. Steve moaned and shuddered at the loss, but in a moment Brock was there, pushing inside of him hard and thick.

“You did so good, babe. So good.”

He was pumping inside of Steve over and over, running his hands along Steve’s spine, up and down his ribs. His body was pressed flush against Steve’s as he thrust in and out, and the contact, the warm calloused hands on his skin, the breath at the base of his neck, the tingling at his spine every time Brock brushed against his prostate felt like a miracle after the hours spent alone. Steve keened in the back of his throat, face pressing against the sweat-soaked sheets.

Brock’s hand reached around and took Steve’s cock and started to pump it. Steve moaned into the mattress, clenching and unclenching his fists. He was _still_ hard. He was almost not surprised at this point. Brock’s other hand slid over and moved Steve’s face so he could press his lips to Steve’s, his fingers brushing over the blindfold. Steve let him take his mouth, jaw hanging limp as Brock pushed into to him, pumping his cock in time. His face was wet. He was crying. He knew that from somewhere far away but he was too lost to try and fight it.

“Are you ready to go again?” Steve whimpered into Brock’s mouth. His balls were growing tight once more and he felt sick to his stomach as he realized what was happening. “Come on. You know what to say.”

“P-please,” he felt come out of his lips. “No. Pl-lease.”

Just as he was about to come, Brock’s fingers tightened around the base of his cock. Steve shouted, he sobbed once more, the sound dissolving into a high, breathy whine. Brock’s other hand wrapped around his neck and Steve was shaking his head, thrashing against the other man, trapped immobile by the cuffs.

Brock still thrust into him. Steve was going to explode. His hand tightened on Steve’s neck. “Come on. Come on, babe. You’re so close.”

“Ple-ase, _pleasepleaseplease,_ ” _Please, make it stop. Please, don’t make me._

“Come on, Steve,” he whispered in Steve’s ear. “You’re doing so good. Say it.”

_“H-hail Hydra.”_

Brock was pumping his cock again in an instant and he came with a pathetic cry, Brock’s hand milking his orgasm out of him. He pressed his face against his arms on the mattress crying in earnest now, confused and lost and blind. His body had gone from shaking to limp, he could not move, he could not shift away from under Brock.

Still Brock was pumping in and out of him, hard and thick inside of him, brushing against his prostate with each thrust of his hips. Steve was melting into the mattress, held up only by Brock’s hands on his hips, on his body, drifting over his chest and nipples, over his back and tense, quivering shoulders. 

“Do you think we can do it together?” He asked, leaning over Steve’s body to whisper in his ear. Steve did not understand. “I know you got at least one more in you.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, trying to pull his face away from Brock’s but he was trapped under the other man. He could smell him everywhere; under the scent of sex and sweat and skin was his heady, musky scent that reminded Steve of hot chocolate. A few days ago that smell was something that Steve wanted to sink into and never leave. Now it was a nightmare. He could not pull away.

“Don’t fight it, babe. I got you, you’re doing so good.”

He was pumping Steve’s oversensitive cock, and thrusting into Steve and Steve could feel another painful orgasm building up from whatever drugs Brock had given Steve.

“Please, I c-can’t.” _Don’t make me._

“You can, I got you. Don’t be scared anymore. Let go.”

“N-no…”

“You’ve been scared for so long, babe. Let me bring you someplace safe. It’s better on this side of the fence. There’s order. There’s no fear. It’s better. I got you, you can do this.”

Brock’s hands were everywhere, Brock was everywhere, and Steve was falling, Steve was disappearing, fading away, crumbling like a pillar of salt. 

“Br-rock,” he moaned, voice wet. “Please.”

“Together. Are you ready?” Brock started pushing into Steve harder and faster, pumping his cock in time. “Almost there, say it with me. Ready, babe? With me.” His breath was hot on Steve’s ear. “Three, two, one—“

_“Hail Hydra.”_

_“H-hail Hyd-ra.”_

Steve came one last time. An explosion, a pathetic dribble of whatever was left inside of him. He felt Brock come as well, baring down and biting Steve on the shoulder. Steve barely felt it. The two of them collapsed onto the bed, panting. Brock rolled off of Steve, pulling out and pressing up to Steve’s side.

“So good, babe. You’re amazing, you know that? You did so good.” His lips were on the blindfold, on Steve’s face, Steve’s neck. “I’m proud of you.”

Steve could not hear him. It was as if Brock was far away. He could not see, he could not hear, he could not think. After a moment Brock was gone, and Steve could feel the air chilling his sweat soaked skin. He rolled over to his side and curled in on himself as much as he could with the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. He could not stop crying, wet and tired and soft.

* * *

_“What’s the matter? Bad dream?”_

_“Sorry, go back to sleep, Rumlow.”_

_“Christ, are you crying?”_

_“I’ll go to the bathroom, I’m sorry— sorry.”_

_“Wait, hey, hey.” Rumlow took his wrist and pulled him back down to the bed. “It’s okay. It was just a nightmare. It happens. It’s okay. I got you.” He wrapped his arms around Steve. Steve tensed. “Wanna talk about it?”_

_“No, I want to go to the bathroom.”_

_“And cry alone? Fuck off.” He pressed his forehead into Steve’s back. “You don’t have to say anything. Just let it out.”_

_“Rumlow, I can’t.”_

_“I got you. It’s okay.”_

_“I’m fine now. It was just waking up.”_

_Rumlow was quiet for a moment. “Okay… okay.”_

_The room was dark and Steve tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t. He started trembling in Rumlow’s arms, breath hitching. Rumlow pulled Steve tighter back into his chest. Rumlow pressed his lips to the back of Steve’s neck, so uncharacteristically soft for the gruff man._

_“I can’t…” Steve whispered into the silent room._

_“It’s okay,” Brock replied. “You don’t have to do anything. I got you, babe.”_

_Steve felt his breath tremble in his chest before he finally answered. “Good to know.”_

_Steve slowly relaxed into the other man, his body turning loose and warm, and fell asleep._

* * *

Steve finally felt his body give up under his skin, the last trembling shudders melting from his tense and aching muscles, and succumbed to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm secretly super proud of this chapter) (I'm terrible)
> 
> So there's the first three chapters. I'll post more eventually, depending on the response I get. IDK, hope those of you who are into this sort of thing like it so far!
> 
> [Yell at me on tumblr where I don't actually talk about HTP stuff all that much.](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we do anything else, I want to direct you all to the most amazing thing in the universe! THERE IS NOW FANART OF THIS FIC! Look at it, love, reblog it, it is beautiful. Here is the [NSFW version](http://xmen-for-real-justice.tumblr.com/post/128048788026/recently-got-really-inspired-by-good-to-know-and-i), and the masterfully cropped [SFW version](http://xmen-for-real-justice.tumblr.com/post/128048802571/recently-got-really-inspired-by-good-to-know-and-i). Tell the artist they're amazing (because they are!) and enjoy the art.

Rumlow was talking to him. Steve knew Rumlow was talking to him but it was hard to hear. The words were fuzzy and far away. Steve could not bring himself to listen anyway. He could not move. He had eventually stopped crying. He stopped doing anything. He could not move. He knew Rumlow was sitting against the headboard, legs crossed by Steve’s face, but he still had not taken off the blindfold. It was still dark. He was still hard. It was like a dull ache now, but it was still there, and it made him feel sick. Occasionally Rumlow would bend down and kiss Steve on the temple. The third time it happened Steve shuddered so hard he thought the whole bed shook underneath him.

“Babe, come on.” A hand was on his head, running fingers through his hair. Every now and then it would lift away from Steve, leaving him blessedly alone for a second, maybe two, before coming back down and settling on his scalp once more. There was the rustle of paper, a page turning. It was still dark.

Rumlow was saying something. Steve did not hear it.

He felt cold. He felt very cold. Clammy skin, chill made worse by the spinning fan circulating the air above them, fingers going numb. It even felt like the breath that kept infecting his lungs was icy. It was like the plane, the ocean, the frozen wastes of the Arctic. It had been dark there too. He should be back there. This would not have happened if he were still under. Why had he let this happen?

He wanted so badly to be there now.

The hand was in his hair again.

* * *

_“What’s the worse pain you’ve ever been through?” Rollins asked._

_Steve leaned back in the bar booth with the rest of the STRIKE team, sipping his beer. Brock was next to him and Steve was desperately trying to keep a straight face as the man’s hand stroked the inside of his thigh under the table. His hand had been there all night and it was driving Steve crazy._

_Jameson lifted his shirt, revealing scarred, puckered skin along his ribs. “Chemical burn, protecting a weapons facility,” he said proudly. “Couldn’t get it treated for four days.” Steve winced._

_“Mine’s worse,” O’Sullivan grinned. “Now, the medical term is called ’testicular torsion’—”_

_“Aah!” Brock and the rest of the team cried out. “Stop!” Jameson threw some of the bar nuts at O’Sullivan, booing._

_“I broke my femur in Budapest,” said Rowel. “I remember just before I passed out that my leg was twisted completely around. Yeah, apparently the thigh muscles are so strong that when shit happens to the femur they can contract and it just turned my whole leg around.”_

_“Gross, dude.”_

_“Jack, remember when I fell outta that building couple years back?” Brock asked._

_“Oh yeah.”_

_“That’s mine. Thirteen stories. Broke three ribs and both my wrists.” Steve met his eye frowning. He had no idea that had happened to Brock. He knew that sort of thing was part of the job but it still left him uneasy thinking about Brock falling from a building._

_“What about you, Cap?” Rollins asked, shaking Steve out of his thoughts._

_“Huh?” Steve blinked trying to think about it._

_“Worst pain you’ve ever been through?”_

_Steve bit his lip. “Getting thawed,” he said at last._

_“I thought you were knocked out for that?”_

_“They knocked me out when they realized I was awake, but I was awake for the first few hours of it, and I— I couldn’t move. I was still frozen. But there was feeling coming back to my body in chunks. You ever have your foot fall asleep? It was like that, but a thousand times worse. And I couldn’t move for the whole thing. I wanted to scream, but my lungs were barely working. It was bad enough that I didn’t remember it until months later. When I woke up in New York I had it blocked out.”_

_“Jesus. That’s almost as bad as the ballsack thing, Cap.”_

_The others laughed and Steve was grateful the attention was off of him once more as the conversation shifted._

_“There are worse things than all that though,” Jameson said. “You’ve heard about things like Leeches, right?”_

_“Leeches?” Steve asked._

_“It’s a myth,” Rollins said. “About five, ten years ago terrorist cells started saying they had this new tech. Extreme interrogation tool. Supposed to be ‘nerve recalibration.’ It sticks to your skin and sends shit directly through your nervous system.”_

_“Yeah, and it can be programmed to be so painful people die from it!” Jameson said._

_“But it isn’t real,” Rollins said, leaning over the table to smack Jameson on the back of the head._

_“Besides, if it was real who’d give you clearance to know about it, kid?”Rumlow smirked before drinking his beer and the table fell into laughter once more._

_Steve leaned into Rumlow’s ear, “They’re not real, right?”_

_“Nah. As real as the Winter Soldier.”_

_“The what?”_

_“Forget about it.” Rumlow squeezed Steve’s thigh. “You ready to get out of here? Meet up at my place?”_

_“I’ve been ready since we sat down and you started groping my damn thigh.”_

_Rumlow grinned. “Good to—“_

_“Yeah, yeah, ‘good to know.’ I know.”_

* * *

Steve’s mind drifted. It was hard for him to replay what had happened because his eyes had been covered. He wondered what his face had looked like with the gag and blindfold, with his eyes bulging wide when Rumlow put in the sounding rod, when he said ‘Hail Hydra.’ Did he look relieved to come? Had his shaking looked as bad as it had felt? Did Rumlow close his eyes when he came inside of Steve? The way he always did?

Was he going to wipe the dried come off of his skin? Was Rumlow going to kiss his stomach? The way he always did? Would Steve survive _that?_

* * *

_“I didn’t know about you falling out of a building,” Steve said, lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily. Brock was digging through the pants he had thrown on the ground looking for his cell phone._

_“What?”_

_“At the bar. You said the worst pain you ever felt was falling out of a building. Thirteen stories.”_

_“That wasn’t the worst pain I felt. I mean, it sucked, but it wasn’t the worst.”_

_“What was?”_

_“If I promise to tell you when we know each other better, will you drop it?”_

_“You don’t even have to promise. We can just drop it.”_

_“I’ll tell you one day.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“You worrying about me?” Brock found his phone and set it on the nightstand near the little fern in the blue pot. Steve watched him move around the tiny apartment, naked and sharp-edged, tidying up a little as he went._

_“Where else am I gonna find someone who does that thing you do with your tongue?”_

_Brock laughed. “You like me. Admit it.”_

_Steve felt his face turning red and looked away. “I like your tongue.”_

_Brock leaned over Steve, licking a stripe up his neck, stubble tickling his skin. “I guess I can settle for ya,” he murmured into Steve’s skin._

_“Yeah?” Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling._

_“You like the sound of that?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Good to know.”_

_Steve pulled Brock down on top of him. “Come back to bed.”_

* * *

A hand reached under his chin and Steve finally moved, flinching, curling inwards to protect his throat. The movement was entirely unconscious, and he wondered at it. What was the point? What was there left to protect? A noise, half-whimper, half breath came from his lungs. The hand, Rumlow’s hand, found whatever it had been searching for, pressing against Steve’s neck momentarily. His fingers were almost hot on Steve’s cold skin and he shuddered again.

“Oh babe,” Rumlow sighed. “Still so scared.” Steve’s brow furrowed when he finally put together Rumlow’s words. Steve was not scared. Steve was not anything. He was cold. “Yeah, you’re freaking out, Stevie. I think you’re in shock.”

Steve was cold.

Rumlow pulled his head up and pressed his lips to Steve’s, put his tongue in Steve’s limp mouth, exploring and possessive, clutching Steve’s skull. Rumlow let go after a moment and Steve’s head bounced a little on the bed as it fell.

He clicked his tongue. “Your lips are cold, babe.”

The bed shifted. Steve almost wished Rumlow had not left to do what ever it was he was doing, because the vague body heat that was coming off of him was now gone. He could taste Rumlow in his mouth and he shuddered once more.

“Come on.” Rumlow took one of his arms and pulled it towards him. “This is gonna help you sleep.”

Something wet and even colder than Steve dabbed at the inside of his arm. Then there was something sharp.

* * *

_“So, getting thawed?”_

_“It wasn’t pleasant.”_

_“Tell me about it?”_

_“About what?”_

_“About getting thawed. About anything. You’re more fun to talk to than the rest of the team. I want to get to know you better.”_

_“Ah of course, it’s_ the conversation _that keeps you coming back. Not the genetically modified body.”_

_“Come on, Steve, just— ugh— talk to me. Don’t be bitchy.”_

_Steve sighed and smiled over at him. “What do you want to know?”_

_“Anything.”_

_“My favorite color’s green.”_

_“Not red, white and blue?” Steve snorted. “Come on, what else?”_

_“I hate those coffee pod machines. Fucking hate ‘em.” He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “I like laptops. And tablets. Computers in general are fine, but the ones you can carry around are just great. It’s like something out of the science fiction magazines that me and— that I used to read as a kid. I kinda like Apple brand more than StarkPads though. If Tony found out, he’d probably kill me. Maybe I’m just not smart enough for his gizmos. I don’t know.”_

_It was Brock’s turn to snort. “Don’t sell yourself short. What else?”_

_Steve was quiet for a minute before he spoke again. The apartment was dark, and it was late enough for Steve to feel his honesty slipping back in. He had kept himself so locked away for so long._

_“When I first started working for Shield a few weeks after the attack on New York I wanted to run away. Dye my hair, wear glasses, become a ghost, hide forever. One night I couldn’t get to sleep so I watched the food network for the entire night. There was this place on one of the shows. It was this guy looking at different diners. And he was in California. I’ve never been to California. Or I went to L.A. for one of the USO shows, but I wasn’t there long enough to even see the ocean. And the TV show, it was at this placed called the Santa Cruz Diner. And they taped around the town a little. I looked it up and apparently Santa Cruz is a big surfing town, and I watched videos of the kids in the water. And they said the water isn’t so bad in the summer. Some days you don’t even need a wetsuit. God, and it just looked like heaven; it was warm, it was friendly, it was just a completely different world. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks and—“_

_He stopped himself, turning away from Brock._

_“Sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Sorry—“_

_“It’s okay. Tell me more.”_

_“I just wanted to run away. I wanted to run away so badly it felt like a physical hurt. I felt it in my chest. I still feel that way sometimes. That’s where I’d go. Get a tiny shack by the beach, go to the farmer’s market on the weekends. Stop fighting. I just want to fucking stop fighting. I’m fucking tired of fighting. Things never get better. It’s always something. I’m tired.”_

_“You can quit. Hell, we can put in the paperwork tomorrow, babe.”_

_He looked over at Rumlow for a moment. “No I can’t, Brock. It’s Shield. I quit, they call me back. I run away they find me. They pulled me out of the fucking ocean. I’ll never get out.”_

_“Babe—“_

_“Hey, I’m tired. Can we just talk tomorrow?” Steve rolled over onto his side facing away from Brock, ending the conversation._

_Brock sounded like he was going to say something else, but didn’t. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and pulled him back against his chest._

_“Sometimes I’d rather still be frozen at the bottom of the Arctic than be here,” he whispered into the dark._

_“Good to know,” Brock murmured back into his skin. “Things’ll get better, babe.”_

_“Yeah, maybe.”_

_“Go to sleep, babe. I got you.”_

* * *

Then there was not much of anything. He was frozen. The air was icy in his lungs, but it was not enough. He should have just stayed at the bottom of the ocean.

“Go to sleep, babe. I got you.”

There was nothing here. Steve could not move. Bit by bit he became aware of less and less. There was nothing anymore. The spot on his arm where something small and sharp had poked through. The breeze from the fan. A hand in his hair. Nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear! There will be more trash and more smut in later chapters. I am first, and foremost, an angst farmer, carefully tending my gmo and pesticide free crop of angst for your enjoyment. And I also had to drop some information for later on, but trash and smut will come back, don't worry. Also, this and the next chapter are relatively short, but the chapters following will be nice and long and smutty.
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com) if that's your thing.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve was first aware of a single, calloused finger tracing patterns on his back and shoulder. He opened his eyes but still could not see. He thought he should have felt the tacky, dried semen on his body, or the way his muscles would occasionally spasm under his skin, aching terribly. But he only felt his face, raw, dry, and clean from the tears. His eyes felt sandy and heavy under the blindfold. He thought this was what being hit by a train felt like, everything hurt. The only thing that did not hurt was the skin of his cheeks and the finger on his shoulder.

* * *

_“What are you doing?” Steve asked as he woke up, eyes bleary, blinking in the early morning dark. There was a finger on his arm, on his shoulder, his back._

_“Not writing love notes, if that’s what you’re worried about.”_

_“Is there something on my back?”_

_“There was,” Brock replied. “I thought I scratched you here last night. But there’s nothing. No mark.”_

_“I heal quick, you know that.”_

_“Yeah, but knowing is different than seeing.” His hand froze. “Do you want me to stop?”_

_“No. No, it feels nice.”_

_He felt Brock slide forward and smile against the back of his neck. His finger started swirling around once more, gentle and warm, leaving tracks of feeling on Steve’s skin. “Good to know.”_

* * *

“Stop,” he whispered. He pulled away as much as he could, aware once more of the restraints on his wrists. He was tangled in his arms and the cuffs, lying on his side. He felt Rumlow’s body pressed up against his back. They had woken up almost like this so many mornings. It was almost right. “Stop it.” He said more forcefully.

Rumlow did not take his finger away. “Don’t be like that, babe.”

“Don’t touch me.” Rumlow kissed him on the back of his neck, wrapping his hand around Steve’s waist. Steve slammed his head back, catching Brock in the side of the face. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!”

He thrashed against the restraints, pulling and screaming, kicking out as much as he could. Rumlow pushed him onto his back and straddled him, and still Steve screamed, bucking up and lashing out at him. Rumlow took Steve’s head in his hands, holding it tight, his fingers digging into Steve’s skull. Steve couldn’t shake him off. He screamed, blind and frantic.

“Babe, you gotta calm down.”

“Get off of me! Get off me!”

“Just breathe, you’re okay, I got you.”

“No! Fucking stop! Get your fucking hands off me!”

“You’re doing good, you’re okay. You did so good yesterday.”

“Stop it! Stop fucking saying that! Let go! LET GO!”

But Rumlow held on, practically riding Steve as he shook and kicked and heaved and screamed on the bed, holding onto his head, his face the whole while. Occasionally he would run a warm thumb over Steve’s cheeks, or lips even when that made Steve scream louder, thrash harder.

He finally crashed back down on the bed, exhausted, panting, still desperately pulling at the cuffs to get away from Rumlow. Rumlow pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, holding him down even as Steve still tried to pull away, twist his head out of Rumlow’s hands. The feel of the other man touching him, kissing him made him want to vomit. He shuddered and twitched, fighting back the high whine in his throat as he squirmed under Rumlow.

“Don’t,” Steve said. “God, don’t! Stop it! STOP!”

“Shh. You’re okay, babe.” He ran his hands through Steve’s hair. Steve tried in vain to shake him off once more, feet slipping on the sheets. “Shh. Quit it. You’re better than that. Good boy,” he whispered. “Good, good boy.”

“Rumlow,” Steve’s voice fell back down to a pathetic whisper, and he hated it. “You have to stop this. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing. You’re the one that needs to stop, babe.” His hands were on Steve’s face, over his cheeks, over the blindfold, slipping down and caressing his neck. Steve felt exposed, raw. “You did so well yesterday, you’re just back-peddling now. I was expecting it.”

“What are you talking about? Back-pedd— Rumlow, this isn’t—“

Rumlow was quiet for a moment, silencing Steve with a finger on his lips. Steve shook his head away and would have glared if the blindfold was not there. He forced himself not to shake. Brock was insane. Steve knew with gnawing certainty that he was going to die on this bed, with Brock’s hands on his skin, on his face. They stayed quiet for a moment and the silence made Steve’s mind race frantically. He had let this happen. It was his fault. Even now he was panting, hyperventilating, he clung to the chains at the cuffs. The cuffs and Rumlow were the only things he knew for certain were keeping him here, grounding him. His brain kept spinning and spinning. He was shaking.

_Stop shaking, stop shaking, stop it, stop shaking, stop, stop—_

“You don’t have to stop shaking, babe. I know you’re scared,” Rumlow said softly. “You’re always so scared.”

Steve flinched. He said the words out loud. How the hell had that happened?

“Shhh. I got you, babe. I think we’re gonna take a little break. You’re gonna feel better in a little bit.”

_A break?_

“What are you talking about?”

Steve felt Rumlow shift above him, leaning towards the side of the bed, grabbing something from the nightstand. His ears picked up the sound of a case opening and he froze, stomach flipping, heart pounding. He thought of the sounding rods from before, in a box with a squeaky hinge. He could not even breathe. _Not again, please not again._

“Babe?” Rumlow asked. He stroked Steve’s face. Steve could not even flinch this time, body tight and wired to explode. “Shh. You’re alright. I got you. Talk to me, tell me what’s wrong.”

Steve finally pulled his face from Rumlow’s hand. “Just do it. Don’t try and make it good.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Steve did not respond and Rumlow’s hand was on his head again, pulling a little at his hair. “Tell me.”

“The metal ro—“ he started before biting his lip. His voice was pathetically shaky, he could not stand it. He had to stop. Stop shaking. Stop talking.

“Keep going.”

“Just do what you’re going to do. I don’t care.”

“You think I’m gonna put the sound in again?” Steve stayed silent, trying to keep still, forcing himself to unclench his fists. “I’m not, you can relax. Not yet anyway.”

Rumlow laughed above him as Steve frowned, and ran his thumb along Steve’s bottom lip. Rumlow shifted up on Steve’s chest and took Steve’s hand in the cuff. He moved his fingers and made him touch what was inside the box. Steve flinched. Long, cylindrical, cold. It was the sounding rod, Steve was sure of it. He tried to pull back, hating the distressed noise that came from behind his closed lips, but Rumlow’s grip on his hand was firm.

“You’re not paying attention. You’re letting your fear keep you from seeing.”

“The fucking blindfold is keeping me from seeing,” he snapped.

“Pay attention.”

Rumlow moved Steve’s fingers along the contents of box once more, finally letting go and letting Steve feel what was inside. He frowned once more. The box was lined with soft foam, There were two empty indentations where he imagined the cylinders he had felt before would fit. There were three of the cylinders left. They weren’t metal, he realized, they were glass. He ran a finger along one, barely willing to touch it. It ended abruptly and Steve felt a small, thin plastic cap. He jerked his hand back.

“Syringes,” Steve said at last. He did not know if that was better or worse than the sounding rod. He felt sick thinking about it.

“Good.”

“So what, you’re gonna put me to sleep again? Did you fuck me when I was out? Is it another one of your super-soldier aphrodisiacs? Making me come like that isn’t a win, you sick fuck.”

Brock played with one of Steve’s hand, intertwining their fingers, Steve could not pull away. “Shh. No, babe. But I can get those again. This is just the travel set. I’ve got more. I already opened the second pack to sedate you last night. Come on.”

Steve did not want to think about how Rumlow had more of the drugs. How much was ‘more’? How long could he keep Steve under? Keep him hard?

Rumlow took Steve’s hand and brought it back to the box again, touching the first two empty spots. “That was what I put in your food the other night, the aphrodisiac, mixed with something that makes it hard to focus. This one was the sedative.” Then he ran Steve’s fingers along the first syringe. “This is a hallucinogenic.” The second syringe. “This one’s adrenaline and cortisol. Everything’s amped up to keep pace with your metabolism.” Then he made Steve touch the last syringe. “This is what I’m going to use now. It’s a cocktail, mostly benzodiazepine, but it’s got some other good stuff in it as well.”

“What?”

“It’ll calm you down. We’re taking a break, Steve. I’m gonna take the magcuffs off, wash you up, get you some food.”

“You undo the cuffs, I’ll kill you.”

Rumlow kissed his fingers. Steve shivered at the feeling of his lips, the stubble on his chin. “No, you won’t. Not with this in you.”

“How do you even know it’ll work?”

“It’ll work.” Steve’s stomach flipped. He sounded so sure. “I can tell you more. Would you like that? Or do you want me to just do it?”

Steve dropped his hand back down on the bed, letting out a small huff of breath.

“Choose: Give you the benzo? Or tell you more about it and then give it to you?”

Steve did not reply for a long time. All the while Brock was playing with his fingers, or stroking down his face with a warm hand. He did not want to chose. That meant being involved in this. That meant _something_.

“Babe?”

“Tell me more,” Steve finally said, voice soft.

“Good, babe. You’re doing good.” Rumlow kissed Steve; his mouth fell open against the other man’s lips. He was tired, even after having slept. He felt so tired. “It’ll be good, you’ll feel better. I’ve had something like it, but for people without serums like you. It makes you calm down. It makes you pliant. It makes you happy.”

“Pliant?”

“And happy. It’ll be good, babe. You’ll probably sleep for a little bit but when you wake up you’ll feel better and I’ll take care of you.”

“H-how long?”

“About five or six hours.” Brock leaned in and kissed Steve once more, warm and soft, cupping Steve’s face in his hands. “You’ll feel good. You’ll feel so much better, babe. You’ve earned it.”

“So it’s a reward? For what?”

“For taking the first step.” Steve tried to turn away, but Brock’s hands were everywhere. “I heard you last night. You let go. You let go of your fear. You were so scared but you let it go. Even if it was for a little bit you jumped over that cliff. That’s the first thing you do to let order into your life. I’m proud of you.”

“Brock, I don’t think you want to hurt me,” Steve tried to reason. “What you’re doing right now is not good. You know that. Deep down you know this is hurting me.”

“It ain’t deep down. I know I’m hurting you. It’s supposed to hurt. Order only comes through pain.”

Steve rolled his eyes under the blindfold and let out a wet sigh and tried to pull his head away from Brock’s hands once more. 

Brock, please,” he tried. He did not want to beg, but he did not know what else he could do. “I don’t want this.”

“Are you ready, babe?”

Steve did not respond. He flinched when he felt the cold dab of the alcohol wipe on the inside of his arm, and hissed when the needle went through his skin. He swallowed and held back a shudder. He thought he could feel the chemicals moving through his arm, cold and terrible and controlling. _Pliant._ The drug would make him _pliant._ Steve did not even want to know what that meant. He thought his body was supposed to withstand poisons. It was supposed to heal. What was the point of the serum anymore?

Brock’s hand was warm against his face, his lips were warm against Steve’s. _Stop it, stop shaking. Stop kissing me._

“You’re doing so good, babe. They said you couldn’t be turned, but you’re getting there. I’m going to take care of you.” Steve did not respond. “Close your eyes, you’re gonna sleep for a little bit. When you wake up you’ll feel better.”

“Better?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, babe. You’ll feel a lot better. I promise.”

* * *

_“Try it. You’ll like it, I promise,” Brock smiled holding the chopsticks with piece of sushi in front of Steve’s mouth. It was eel. Steve balked at the idea of it, just barely being able to wrap his mind around eating raw fish. He had stuck with California Rolls, with the deep fried rolls because at least those were cooked. He had something which was called a Philadelphia Roll which Brock snarked at, shouting that it was not real sushi, but Steve liked it. It had salmon and cream cheese and was deep friend and warm. It wasn’t real sushi, he knew that, but it tasted a little like the stuff he and Bucky would sometimes get at the Jewish Deli near the art school before the war. Comfort food, rather than international delicacies._

_“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”_

_“I always keep my promises.”_

_Steve scoffed, “Sure you do. Everyone says that. Not even I can keep all my promises.” His mind flashed; the plane, the arctic, the blue cube burning through the hull, Peggy’s voice over the radio, a dance he did not make it to; ‘We’ll have the band play something slow…’_

_“You’ve got a way to find out. Syllogistic reasoning has got my back; I always keep my promises. I promise you’ll like this. Therefore, you’ll like this.” Steve shot him a bemused look. “It’s not perfect, I’m no Socrates, give me a break. Come on, open up.”_

_Steve snorted and opened his mouth and let Brock put the sushi — unagi and cucumber — on his tongue. It was different than he had expected, there was a sweet tangy sauce on the eel meat, which the rice around it absorbed. Steve chewed slowly, enjoying it. It was a completely new flavor, and he’d been encountering enough of those to know that he should relish the experience. There was nothing quite like firsts, Natasha said. And life had given him a chance to have some new firsts._

_“It’s good,” he said at last, ducking his head, hiding his smile._

_“See. Kept my promise.”_

_“Yeah. Guess you did.”_

_“Come here.”_

_Steve glanced around the restaurant before sliding closer to Brock. The restaurant had small, private booths with half curtains and a dark ambiance. Save for the occasional waiter coming and replacing a plate of sushi or filling a glass with more wine, it was almost like being alone. Still, Steve started when Brock ran a thumb over his bottom lip. Their legs were pressed against each other’s, warm and solid, and Steve felt his skin grow hot, as Brock inched closer to his face. Steve’s eyes were focusing on the table, on the glasses, anywhere but on Brock. He did not think he could meet his eye._

_“You’re so shy, Steve. Still so shy.”_

_“S-sorry.”_

_“Don’t be. I don’t mind it. It’s sweet. But I’m gonna get you out of your shell. See you in all your glory.”_

_“Is that a promise?”_

_“Do you want it to be? Be careful, I always keep my promises.”_

_Steve’s breath hitched. He could feel the heat from Brock’s skin on his face. Brock’s thumb pressed just barely inside of Steve’s mouth. It took all of Steve’s power not to close his lips around it, heart pounding, eyes locked with the other man’s. “Yeah,” he breathed out with a small nod. “Yeah. I want it.”_

_“Good to know.”_

_Steve looked around once more before inching even closer to Brock, his hands coming up, fingers running over the stubble on his chin. He gave a small suck on Brock’s thumb before pressing in the final few centimeters and ghosting his lips over Brock’s. The other man cupped his head and Steve gasped into his mouth, letting the other man in._

_They broke apart at last and Steve let out a small huff of laughter, burying his face in the crook of Brock’s neck. “Sorry,” he murmured again. “I’m not—“_

_“You’re perfect,” Brock replied with a laugh. “So sweet.” Steve’s blush grew deeper, and he was grateful it was dark enough that Brock couldn’t see. “Alright, open up.” Steve had not even realized Brock had gotten another piece of sushi in his chop sticks and was bringing it up to Steve’s mouth. Steve ate it and smiled as he chewed, hiding his face back in Brock’s neck while the other man chuckled above him._

* * *

“I’m serious, babe. I promise. You’ll feel better.”

“Okay,” he said softly. He had not meant to speak it out loud, and it felt like his own mind was betraying him. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stinging of his eyelids, the brush of the blindfold now feeling wet once more. He started feeling the pull of the drugs, feeling heavy, tired. Brock’s hands were warm on his skin. “O-okay.”

“Good boy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it bad that I'm kind of jealous of Steve/Brock's relationship? (well, their relationship pre-all this shit that has happened). I don't know, it seems kind of nice...
> 
> I'm Betsy; I'm actually three gremlins wearing a human suit and you can yell at me on [tumblr](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com) if you want.
> 
> There will be more smut. If you liked the stuff in chapters 2 and 3, then what I'm loosely working around as chapter 13 will knock your socks off.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve woke again, a finger on his chest, his neck. He smiled, head rolling between his arms on the pillow as the finger ran swirling, miraculous patterns across his skin. He could feel it like lightning through his nerves.

“There he is,” Brock’s warm voice said. “You slept for a long time. You must have been tired.” Steve nodded, stretching as much as he could before relaxing back into the pillow. “How do you feel now?”

“Warm,” Steve replied. It was true. Naked on the bed with the cold air of the fan meant nothing. He felt warm, languid, soft. He thought there was something wrong but he could not think of what it could be. He knew this bed, Brock’s bed, so well. He was fine. The skin of his face felt so clean, salt scrubbed and fresh. He was warm.

“That’s good, babe. I know you don’t like being cold.”

“It was snowing when Bucky died.” The words were out of his mouth easily. He did not even think them before he said them. They just were.

The finger stopped for a moment. Steve realized he could not see Brock and tried to touch his eyes to find out why before remembering he was cuffed. He whimpered. “Brock, what—“

Brock put a warm hand on his chest. “Shh. It’s okay, babe. Let me just look at you like this for a minute.”

“Okay,” Steve breathed.

Brock probably didn’t really want to look at him, he thought. He was just being nice. He was nice. He put up with Steve. Steve would let him look as long as he wanted. Steve would let him do whatever he wanted. He had thought that since Brock kissed him the first time in Namibia. He had known it in his bones.

Brock ran his hand up and down Steve’s ribs and Steve almost purred into it, mouth falling open as wave of sensation coursed through him. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?”

“Y-yeah. Yesss…”

“You’re so good. You’ve been doing so good. You look gorgeous like this. Perfect.” Steve hummed, leaning into Brock’s touch, a blush rising on his cheeks at the compliment. He could feel his muscles aching under his skin, but they were relaxed, slowly healing from his ordeal. He turned his head and felt Brock run his hand up the thick column of his neck. He bit his lip but could not stop the soft moan that sounded in his throat. This was better, he had been so scared before.

_Why had he been so scared?_

“You ready for me to take the blindfold off? We can go wash up?” Steve nodded. He kissed the inside of Rumlow’s wrist, lips sloppy and loose, when his hand came to the blindfold. Rumlow chuckled. “You’re so sweet like this, so good.”

Steve smiled once more; he liked being good.

He blinked, squinting when the blindfold was finally gone; there was only one light on in the apartment, but it still felt too bright against his eyes. When he finally adjusted to the light he looked up and met Brock’s eyes.

“There you are, there’s those blue eyes,” Brock smiled down at him. “Isn’t this better?” Steve nodded. It was. It was so much better. “I’m going to undo the cuffs okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He worked Steve’s wrists out of the cuffs, massaging his arms; Steve moaned and whimpered at the touch. His muscles screamed as Brock brought his hands down and set them at his sides. “You okay, babe?”

“It hurts. I don’t want to be tied up again. My arms hurt. My wrists—” He looked at his wrists. There were bruises where the cuffs were, green and blue against his peach skin. “Wow…”

“We won’t have to tie you up for a little while.”

“Look, Brock.” He showed Brock one of his wrists. “Look at that.”

“I’m sorry, babe. Necessary evil.”

“It’s okay.”

He moved and flexed his hand, his fingers, watching the muscles under the bruises move, his skin undulating and shifting. Even now he thought he could see the bruises themselves morphing, the dead, black blood being circulated out from his wrists, healing away and moving back to be reabsorbed into his body or floating out of his skin into the air.

“Wow…”

“You’re something else, Steve.”

“Look at the bruises.” Brock took his hands, and kissed him where the cuffs had been. Steve smiled, blushing. “You like them?” Steve asked him.

“I like you.” Steve laughed then, deep inside of his chest, smiling hard; he could not even look at Brock. “Is something funny?”

“You’re funny.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Steve smiled and looked at his wrists once more, blushing even harder, turning away from Brock. He could not even look at him. This was better, there were bruises. This was better.

Brock moved down to the foot of the bed. Steve watched him, sitting up as Brock started working on the cuffs on his feet. He remembered everything that had happened. He remembered the way his heart pounded and the way he shook and cried. It seemed so far away now. He remembered before that too. He remembered sleeping with Brock and spending time with him. Laughing. Brock made him laugh, made him blush, made him smile. That had been okay. This was okay. This was good. This was better.

He felt a surge of courage and tapped Brock carefully on the shoulder, biting his lip, looking away when their eyes met. He smiled when the other man grinned and crawled over his legs and kissed him. This was what he wanted, this was better. He ran his hands through Brock’s hair, and it felt as if every strand was reaching for his skin and gasped when Brock’s teeth ran over his neck, his body loose and relaxed under the other man’s hands.

“So sweet for me, babe. I’d keep you like this forever if I could.”

“Can you?” Steve asked between kisses. “Can I stay like this?” This was so much better. “Please— please?”

Brock shook his head, meeting Steve’s eye. “This is just a break. You gotta come back down later.”

Steve frowned. “Why?” This was better. “Please?”

“Can’t have good without the bad. That’s order. That’s how our world works.”

“Our world?”

“You’ll learn.”

“Okay.” Steve felt like he should be saying something else. He was not supposed to be a part of whatever world Brock was talking about. Was he? He thought he wasn’t. “But—“

“But what?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a frown.

“Then don’t worry about it. It’ll come back when we’re done.”

“Please?” he tried once more. He took Brock’s hand, pressing the man’s fingers to his lips. “Please, Brock?”

Brock smiled and patted his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He left one of the cuffs on Steve’s ankles, but attached a longer length of chain — _“Just in case.”_ — and helped Steve off the bed and through the tiny studio apartment to the bathroom. Steve laughed again, the chain making a strange, rattling noise as he dragged it behind him through the apartment. He stumbled a little. It was hard to walk without Brock’s help. Together they went through the motions of using the toilet, brushing his teeth, taking a shower. Distantly Steve thought this should be humiliating but he could not bring that thought to the front of his mind. The water felt so intense against his skin, too hot, too cold. Brock’s hands were everywhere, and scraping the dry semen off of his skin hurt, but was wonderful all at the same time. The smell of the shampoo was overpowering, he almost slipped in the small shower stall.

Brock gave him some fruit. Steve knew — distantly once more; this thought was also unobtainable— that he needed more food than this. Some berries, half a banana, a few slices of apple. It wasn’t enough. But it tasted so sweet, so right. He ate out of Brock’s hands, licking the other man’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth.

“So sweet, babe.”

Steve smiled and buried his head in the crook of Brock’s neck, feeling his warm skin, his shirt. His fingers slipped over the place where the sleeve of his t-shirt turned into his arm, over and over. They were so different but both so warm, so Brock. His hands trembled a little; the feelings were so different under his fingertips. He thought he could study it for years and never understand it. He closed his eyes; it was too much information. Brock ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “You’re alright. Good boy.”

Later, Steve stood a few feet from the bed as Brock changed the sheets. He looked at the door. That’s what he was supposed to do. He was not supposed to be here. He had to run. He had been wanting to run for so long and now he could. He needed to get out of here.

“I probably shouldn’t use my bike though. Thing’s are too… unsteady.” He smiled at himself; that was a smart decision, he realized with a nod. He usually wasn’t that smart; he knew it bothered the others when he could not figure out some of the things they were talking about that had happened when he was in the ocean, or could not work some of the high tech tools as well as the others. He frowned at the memory as he walked, he hated being a burden, he wanted to be good.

“What was that, babe?”

Steve hummed, waving Brock away. “I have to go.” He stepped slowly, haphazardly across the apartment floor and made it as far as the couch when something pulled at his ankle. The chain and the cuff. He lost his balance and slipped to the floor, barely catching himself before his face crashed against the wood. The world was spinning, he could not blink it clear.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Brock asked.

“I need to run. I think I need to get out of here.”

“Why?”

“…I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“It’ll come back when we’re done. Stay with me now.”

That was a good idea too. “Okay.”

Steve turned over on the floor and looked up at Brock as he bent down to help him back up. His head spun when he made it to his feet, and he leaned on Brock heavily. The whole world was fuzzy, was spinning, and Brock had complicated clothes and skin and scent and it was almost too much. Brock moved him and he leaned on the back of the couch, the leather soft against his skin. Brock put his hands on Steve’s ribs and Steve moaned, arching into the overwhelming touch as Brock’s hands ran over his chest, up his shoulders, cupping his neck.

“You like that?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so sweet like this. Sweeter than you were even before everything.”

“No I’m not.”

“You’re the sweetest thing, Steve. I’m so glad I found you.”

Steve trembled, breath hitching, hiccuping; the hands were moving over his naked skin. “It feels good. It feels really good. I can’t—”

“I know, babe.”

“I like when you call me that. I never told you, but I like it. I like it a lot.”

“I can tell.”

Steve hummed. “There’s a lot I never told you.”

“Aw. I thought you didn’t like secrets.”

“But everyone has secrets.” He thought he sounded very sage with that revelation. “Everyone has secrets. You had a big one.”

“Do you wanna tell me some now?”

“I want to kiss you.” He blushed again. “Sorry, sorry I—“

“You’re fine, babe. Come ‘ere.”

Brock smiled and pressed his lips to Steve’s. Steve melted into him, open-mouthed, loose and comfortable. He almost did not feel the soreness in his wrists, or the ache in his muscles anymore. Brock moved back, and guided Steve over to the bed once more. Steve flopped down on it gracelessly and Brock followed. Steve heard himself keen high in his throat as Brock’s pressed soft kisses into his neck. Steve turned and rubbed against the clean sheets of the bed, feeling them glide against his skin, sending him buzzing with sensation.

“Wow,” he heard himself whisper. Rumlow was laughing somewhere far away. “Oh my god…”

“You’re floating, babe. You’re higher than a kite.” Rumlow sat up against the headboard and Steve lay down against his thigh, between his legs, curling up smaller than he had any right to. The texture of Rumlow’s pants was so complicated against his skin.

“It feels good,” he said again, beaming. _So good, so much better. What had he been so scared of?_ “So good. It feels, it feels…”

“Can you hear me okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I can hear you. Your voice— you need a lozenge. So gruff.” He made a face at Brock before smiling, a small giggle on his lips. Brock smiled back at him, running a familiar hand through his hair and he leaned into it. He pressed his lips to Brock’s palm, closing his eyes and relaxing into his hand.

“What’s your favorite color?” Brock asked.

“Green.” He smiled. _Kiss me, I’m Irish. Fuck me, I’m Irish._ He thought he said it out loud and giggled again, but maybe Brock did not hear it. Brock would have thought that was funny if he had heard it. He almost thought to say it again, but he didn’t want to bother the other man. Maybe he didn’t think it was funny, that’s why he didn’t laugh. He pressed his face into Brock’s thigh.

“What year were you born?”

“1918.”

“And what year is it now? Do you know?”

“2014.” He moaned, laughing. “Brock, I’m so fucking old. What the hell happened?” He kept laughing for a moment before Brock put his finger on Steve’s lips. He settled down and looked up at the other man, smiling. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t be. You’re perfect.” Brock’s hand was perfect against his skin. “Did you tell anyone about you and me, Steve?”

“No,” he replied simply. That was an easy one. “I was going to tell Natasha. Then you drugged me.” He met Brock’s eyes, lids heavy, blinking up at him beyond his eyelashes. “I probably should have told her. At least then she’d know where to start looking for my body.”

“Do you think you’re gonna to be a body when we’re done? Like I’m going to kill you?”

“It felt like you were. I thought I was dying. I might still be dying. I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“I was scared, Brock. I was really scared. I don’t know, though.” _Why had he been so scared?_

“I know you’re scared. That’s why we’re doing this. But you’re so dramatic.”

“Peggy says the same thing. She’s perfect.”

“She’s right. She’s a smart lady. You’re perfect too.”

“No. I’m not.” That made sense. Steve knew he would never be good enough for Peggy. He wasn’t even good enough for Brock, and Brock wasn’t nearly as perfect as Peggy. He was a different perfect. He made Steve laugh; he made him come so hard he saw stars. But it was better that he died; saved Peggy the trouble. He was not good enough for anyone. He curled closer into Brock.

“Oh babe. Are you scared now?”

“I don’t think so.” _I’m sad._ But Brock did not hear him he thought. He was not sure he said it.

“Good.” Brock petted his hair. Steve pressed into his hand. “Tell me a secret. Something you haven’t told anyone. You know I like talking with you.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. His head lolled on his shoulders, on Brock’s leg. “All my secrets are dead. They died when I crashed the plane.” He thought of the plane and his stomach lurched. He grabbed onto Brock’s arm.

“Shh, shh… it’s okay. You’re okay. Tell me something new. Tell me a secret.”

“I think ‘Brock’ is a stupid fucking name.” His mouth felt strange to say it. “Brock. Brroocckkk. It’s fucking stupid. Braawk.”

Brock’s eyes widened and he laughed. “You’re lucky you’re cute, asshole. You’re lucky you’re so sweet like this.”

Steve grinned up at him, a bubble of giggles in his chest. He was ecstatic, silent laughter making him shake in Rumlow’s lap. He pressed his face against Brock’s thigh, reached over and wrapped his hand around Brock’s waist. There was the skin and shirt combo here too. Impossibly interesting, unreal. He played with the hem of Brock’s shirt, feeling the warm skin, feeling the cloth. He keened when Brock scratched his head, nails running lightly, magnificently over his scalp.

“Come on, Stevie. I’m serious. Talk to me, babe. I like your voice.” Steve hummed and smiled into Brock’s thigh.

He turned and met Brock’s eyes. Without thinking Steve brought his hand up and touched Brock on the cheek. He thought of secrets. His face was not right. It was always so stubbly, grizzled. He missed Bucky. He wished Bucky could feel this good. Maybe being dead felt okay though. Could being dead feel this good? He hoped so. Bucky deserved good. More than Steve did. Bucky was so much stronger than Steve ever could be.

“A secret?” Brock nodded. “You can’t tell anyone,” Steve finally said. Brock nodded again solemnly. “I’m serious.” He looked around the room, head loose on his neck, rolling more than he wanted, before whispering, “They’ll kick me out if they knew. They’ll kick us out.”

“Tell me. I won’t let anyone know.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Captain America can’t be a fairy. He just can’t. I hate that word, but that’s what they’ll call us; fucking fairies. You’re better than that. You deserve more than that. There’s no way around it. If someone found out we’d lose the war. I wish there was another way.”

“Is that your secret? I already knew that.”

“No. That’s not the secret. But it is a secret. But that’s not— it’s not—“

“Go on.”

“It’s Bucky.”

“Bucky? You mean Bucky Barnes?”

Steve nodded. “That’s my secret. He’s my secret. He’s—”

“What about him?”

“I died because he died. I wasn’t saving the world. I crashed the plane because he died. It had been snowing when he died. I froze because he died. I hate being cold, but it was better. I crashed the plane because he died.”

“Really?” Brock looked genuinely concerned for a moment, and Steve wanted to wipe the frown from his face. “Why, babe?”

“Because I loved him. And I never told him,” Steve was suddenly remembering everything to do with Bucky. It welled up inside of him and he clung to Rumlow as the memories started flashing before him, his eyes started stinging. “I should have told him I loved him. I should have jumped after him.” Rumlow was quiet, holding Steve close as Steve twisted his hand in Rumlow’s shirt. “I loved him. I should have jumped.”

“Good to know,” Rumlow said softly. His hand rested on Steve’s head, warm and bracing.

“I should have caught him. I should have jumped.” Steve felt like he was about to start crying. He could not stop it.

“Oh babe. Shhh… don’t think about that now. Don’t chase that thought anymore. We were feeling good, remember? Let’s go back to that, okay?” Steve nodded. “Okay. Slide over.”

Brock took off his shirt, grabbed something from the nightstand and lay down facing Steve on the bed. He had Steve bend his leg up, opened the tube of cooling lube and brought his hand between Steve’s legs. Steve whined as Brock pushed in two fingers, slowly stretching him. It felt like ice and Steve was shuddering on the bed, gripping Brock’s arm and the sheets beneath him to stay steady.

“I don’t like that,” he whispered. “It’s cold. Brock, please.”

“I’m sorry, babe. Wasn’t thinking. Kiss me, it’ll feel better.”

Steve pressed his lips against Brock’s, moaning into the other man’s mouth as he worked his fingers inside of him. After a moment, Brock unzipped his pants and lay on his back, coating his cock in lube. He pulled Steve over and Steve shakily straddled him. He sank down onto Rumlow’s cock and they both groaned. The cooling lube made Steve feel nauseous, the stretch was almost too much. But Brock’s hands were on his hips and it felt so right. He stayed there for a moment, head thrown back as the feeling of being full like this coursed through him, from the base of his spine to the back of his skull. Brock gave him a light smack on the thigh and he gasped, losing his balance and slipping forward with shock, his hands bracketing Brock’s head.

“Come on, babe. You gotta do some work if you wanna feel good.”

“It feels good.”

“It’ll feel better if you move a bit, Stevie.”

Steve nodded. That sounded right. He slowly, sloppily started rocking his hips, sliding up and down on Rumlow’s cock, gasping whenever he got the angle right and brushed against that perfect spot inside of him. It felt so good, even with the cold, even with the stretch. Steve was shaking on top of Rumlow.

“St-stop shaking, stop shaking, stop…”

“It’s okay, babe. You’re doing good, you’re doing so good.”

His mouth hung open, and he yelped when Brock took his dick in his hand and started slowly pumping it out of time with Steve’s erratic rise and fall. He twisted and moaned when Brock’s other hand came up and toyed with his nipples, going back and forth. It was sensation, it was overwhelming and he loved it. He could feel everything on his skin, in his body. There was nothing wrong.

“Are you ready to come, babe?”

“Y-yess.”

“You gotta say the magic words.” Steve frowned, he could not remember what he was supposed to say. “I’ll come first, and you can hear me say it, alright babe?”

“O-okay.”

Brock started pumping deep within Steve, gripping him hard by the hips. There were going to be bruises, and the thought left Steve reeling; he loved bruises. Steve could barely hang on. Each thrust of Rumlow inside of him was jarring, shaking his whole body as he limply held onto the headboard of the bed. He loved it. He felt small again; loose in a way he never could reach when he was sober. 

Brock stilled, and Steve could feel him coming inside of him with a whispered, _“Hail Hydra.”_

That’s what he was supposed to say. He frowned again. Why would he say that? _Why the fuck would he say that?_ A whimper fell from his lips.

Brock was jerking him off fast now, he was getting so close, he could feel his body growing tight in that perfect way, he was so close.

“Can’t come until you say it.”

“But I d—“ Rumlow squeezed the base of Steve’s cock and Steve gasped, writhing on top of him, whimpering, shivering. “Please, please, please.”

“Say it.”

Steve leaned in and kissed Brock’s neck, “Please, please. I want it, I want it, I want you.” He squirmed and keened. He saw his hand gripping at the sheets under Brock’s shoulder. He could not help but stare at it for a moment, it didn’t look real. Nothing felt real. He felt like he was falling apart. “Please…”

“Say it, babe. And you can come. It’ll feel so good.”

“I wanna feel good,” he replied. “I want you, I want it. It feels good. Please, please—“

“Say it.”

_“Hail Hydra,”_ Steve murmured into Brock’s face. Immediately Brock was pumping his cock and Steve moaned loudly, feeling his whole body tremble. “Stop shaking, stop shaking.”

“Say it again, babe. I like it.”

_“Hail Hydra,”_ he said. “Please, please, please. _Hail Hydra, hail Hydra…_ ” Rumlow bit his neck and he keened and came with a groan, spilling on his and Brock’s stomachs. “Stop shaking, please, please, please.”

“Good boy,” Rumlow said into his ear. “Good, good boy.” Steve sighed into Brock neck, and pressed against him. He could feel Rumlow going soft inside of him and whimpered when he finally pulled out. “But you made a mess, babe.”

“What? I didn’t—” _I didn’t mean to._

“Look at this. All over my stomach. Someone’s gonna have to clean that up.” He moved Steve’s head to his stomach. Steve glanced up and met Brock’s eye with a grin, finally catching on. He laughed, out loud, body stretching over Brock’s, limbs shaky and loose.

“And here too,” Brock murmured. He sat up and his hand slid down Steve’s back. His fingers reached inside of Steve and scooped out some of the dripping cum. Steve shuddered, grinning, trembling, gasping. “Get started.”

Steve licked the semen off of Brock’s fingers with a moan, the salty taste so familiar, before moving onto Brock’s stomach.

“Say it. Say it again. You know I like it. I love your voice, babe.”

_“Hail hydra,”_ Steve moaned as he licked his own cum off of Brock. He was shaking, he was floating. Brock’s skin tasted like lightning, electric waves coursing through his lips into his body.

“Good boy, good boy. Look at me, let me see you.” Steve glanced up at him, loose and pliant.

_Pliant._ That was a weird word, wasn’t it? Steve thought about it for a moment staring at Brock, unfocused, smiling loose. He thought he was not supposed to like it, but how could not like the way this felt? This was so much better.

“You’ve got the bluest eyes, babe. You’re perfect.”

Steve smiled into Brock’s chest, a flutter of a blush rising on his cheeks once more, before collapsing down onto the bed, rolling onto his back. Brock started moving his hands up and down Steve’s body and he groaned once more, a feeble, tired sound in his throat. His hands were everywhere and it felt like he was being taken apart with fingers and palms alone. It was electricity and noise and too much, too too much. He was panting, sighing, moaning. He was trembling so hard.

“S-stop shaking, please, please, it feels good, please…”

* * *

_“Wow, Captain America did drugs in Harlem. Wow.”_

_“Oh come on, it wasn’t that crazy. Just reefer sometimes, the back corners of the dance halls. I only did it a few times, Bucky liked it more. It wasn’t for me.”_

_“Why’s that.”_

_“I didn’t like losing control like that. I hated it, really. And I always came down real hard from it. It wasn’t worth it. It felt like I was dying. And when I was high it felt like I was out of control, vulnerable. It wasn’t good.”_

_“Good to know. Can I add that to the list?”_

_“List?”_

_“The ‘things you’re scared of’ list.”_

_“Oh, um. Nah, I’m not scared of getting high. It just wasn’t for me, you know? Doesn’t matter now. I don’t think the serum will let me get high again anyway. Same way I can’t get drunk.”_

_“Never say never. Science has come a long way.”_

_“Yeah, sure.”_

* * *

“Babe?” Brock asked. He was very far away. Steve was lost, murmuring to himself, not even able to form words anymore, staring at the ceiling fan spinning clockwise above him, spinning with him, spinning him, pulling him along. “Sweet dreams, babe.”

Brock was chuckling. Maybe something was funny, but Steve did not know what. His hands were moved above his head, there was something on his wrists. He was lost. He was so lost. He was not even in his body anymore. He was not sure he was even breathing anymore. There was a finger tracing patterns on his collarbone, as he gasped, not getting enough oxygen, eyes shifting in and out of focus.

He was lost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was super fun/super hard to write. :P
> 
> [Yell at me on tumblr.](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

Steve groaned before he even opened his eyes, his head was pounding, his stomach churning.

“Come on, sit up, babe.”

Steve could not help but let the hands on his body guide him up. His arms were cuffed to the headboard again but his legs were free, save for the long length of chain from before. He blinked at his ankle. If he were Natasha he would be able to wrap the chain around Rumlow’s neck and snap it. Now as he stared he could barely move it. He groaned again, pitching to one side before Rumlow propped him back up against the back of the bed.

“Aim in here.”

There was a bucket in front of him, and Steve vomited into it without any other prompting. Then it kept coming up. Even when his stomach was empty he kept dry heaving, drool and snot dripping into the bucket. All the while Rumlow had a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing gently and murmuring comforting things in his ear.

“Oh god.” He would have curled up in a ball if he could’ve.

“Shh. It’s alright. You’ll feel better in a little while.”

He started heaving again, gasping and moaning into the bucket and Rumlow whispered to him the whole while. He wanted to pull away, but his body was not participating. When he finally finished he was a quivering mess, resting his head on the edge of the bucket, biting back a whimper.

“You done?”

“Bet you— bet you don’t think I’m so sweet now, huh you— you—“ he groaned, a shudder quaking through him. “You son of a bitch…” He started laughing against the bucket, something hysterical welling within him. “Or you gonna fuck me like this too? Might have to shoot me up with more drugs if you want me to come though.”

He laughed again, but it devolved into a feeble, hitching groan at the thought of sex, of drugs, of Rumlow. The flashy, hazy images from the night before were shuffling through his brain. His breath was wheezing in his throat, and his nostrils and mouth burned with stomach acid.

He finally turned to glare at Rumlow and spat, most of it dribbled down his chin but some of it hit Rumlow, “Hail fucking Hydra.”

Rumlow wiped Steve’s chin with a napkin and pulled Steve over making him rest his head on Rumlow’s shoulder. Steve did not even have it in him to move away despite how much he wanted to. Rumlow was solid and warm, and Steve could barely move his fingers, let alone his body, save for the way he was quivering. He was not sure he ever had felt this sick even before the serum. It was a hangover, the flu, various gunshot and stab wounds from his past, and smallpox all wrapped in one torturous bundle. He was shaking again. The world was spinning.

“This is just a side effect from the benzo mix, you’ll be fine.” Rumlow held Steve steady as he trembled on the other man. The bucket of vomit almost pitched over but Rumlow caught it easily, tucking it next to the bed. “You’re okay, babe.”

“No, I’m not,” he slurred. His words were flowing out of his mouth easily still. Rumlow could ask him anything right now and he’d probably answer. Had Rumlow asked him things before? Steve could not remember. Everything was blurring.

“You will be okay. I promise you. You make it through all this and you’ll be a new man.”

“Torture does tend to change a fella.”

“This isn’t torture. This is rebuilding.”

Steve groaned again. “You don’t believe that shit, do you?”

Rumlow did not answer because Steve was starting to vomit once more. Rumlow brought the bucket back up just in time and Steve puked into again, his whole body wracked with it, inhaling nothing but the smell of bile and churned up food. He could not even hold onto the bucket because of the cuffs. It was awkward, it hurt. Rumlow kissed his sweaty temple when he was done, holding Steve upright as he swayed where he sat.

“Why are you doing this?” Steve asked. He blinked as he looked around the room, his head might have been hurting a little less but he could not be sure. He could not focus his eyes.

“Because I want you with me when the world changes. You belong with us.”

“I might have come if you asked nicely…” he mumbled back.

“No. You wouldn’t’ve.”

Steve thought about it for a moment, his brain taking its time to keep up with the conversation. “You’re probably right. Hydra and I don’t exactly get along.” He groaned again. He slumped against Rumlow, hating himself for feeling so weak, too sick to pull away from the comforting hand running circles on his back.

“But why this?” he asked into Rumlow’s shoulder. “Why—“

“You have to be broken for Hydra to put you back together.”

“Hydra is gone, Brock. You’re delusional.”

“You’re delusional if you think you can end something as big as Hydra just by crashing a plane in the ocean.”

“Pretend Hydra is real then,” Steve ventured slowly. He did not want to pretend any such thing. Even saying the words made thousands of questions well up within him. He settled on one that did not explore the possibility of Hydra being around still. He knew he might regret not getting enough information later on, but he could barely see; he did not know if he could process real information and keep himself upright all at once. He did not want to have to try yet. “Did they— did they do this to you too?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Jack.”

“J-Jack?”

 _Jack Rollins?_ Steve could not imagine Jack Rollins doing this to anyone, let alone Rumlow. But then again he could not imagine Brock doing this, and yet here he was chained to the bed. Steve could not wrap his head around it. Brock wouldn’t do this. Jack wouldn’t do this. Sure, he was hard and sharp at the edges, but Jack Rollins was a church man, one of the last remaining few. He tried to get Steve to use his apartment as a foster home for kittens for his brother’s pet shelter. They did not know any other _Jack._ Rumlow said the name the same way he always said it when he was referring to Rollins.

“He did the same thing you’re doing to me?”

“Not the exact same. But he broke me for Hydra like I’m going to break you.”

“You say it like— like—“ Steve stopped, feeling another wave of nausea roll through him, but it passed, he was shuddering against Rumlow, closing his eyes to keep his head from spinning. “—like it’s so easy.”

Rumlow stroked his face. “Not easy. But necessary. This is for your benefit.”

Steve laughed again, a small wheeze in the back of his throat. “That’s fucking bullshit.”

“You think so?” Rumlow asked lightly.

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

Rumlow laughed, and held Steve close, keeping him warm and upright. Steve closed his eyes and fell back asleep against Rumlow’s shoulder.

* * *

_“Babe, no. You’ll get sick too.”_

_“I can’t get sick, remember?”_

_“Oh shit, that’s right.” Brock started laughing on the other end of the phone. “You’re like a walking biohazard suit.”_

_Steve smiled. “Did you get any meds, Brock?”_

_“Oh yeah, some of the good stuff. SHIELD knows what’s up.”_

_“Can I come over? Make you some soup or something at least?”_

_“No, you can’t cook. You can come if you get some of the soup from the Thai place though. I’ll allow that.”_

_“The lemon grass stuff?”_

_“Make sure they make it hot, with the cayenne or whatever. It clears the sinuses.”_

_“Okay. I’ll be over in a little while.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve was awake again, pulled from sleep by a terrible, terrible pain. He leaned forward on the bed with a sob. His head was killing him. There was something wrong, there was something so wrong. It felt like acid was being poured directly onto his brain, boiling in his skull.

“Babe?” Rumlow was speaking softly next to him, but it sounded so loud. Steve flinched away, and the movement jarred him further. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It hurts,” he finally whispered. His eyes were squeezed shut but it still felt like too much bright light was getting in beyond his eyelids, flashing and colored and sharp. “My— my head hurts. Brock it—” he sobbed again. His tongue was heavy in his mouth, his whole body focused on the pain in his skull.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you come down hard, were you?”

Steve thought he asked what Rumlow meant, but maybe not. The bed shifted as Rumlow got off, and Steve moaned. The movement was too much.

“It’s wrong,” he whimpered. “Something’s wrong. This isn’t—”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just your body is processing the chemicals too quick. The lab people said that might happen with your serum. You’re fine. You’ll be alright.”

“It hurts,” he sobbed again. “Oh god, it hurts. I can’t— I can’t—”

Rumlow sat next to him once more and held him close. It wasn’t until he was pressed against the other man that he realized he was shaking violently. He opened his eyes once and saw double, triple, the world was spinning and it felt like he was being stabbed directly in the brain through his eyes. He sobbed and curled down as much as he could with the cuffs, arms pulled back awkwardly, but he did not care.

Rumlow’s hand on his back felt both comforting and painful, like it was much bigger than it really was, electric skin brushing across Steve, sending waves of pain and sensation through him. Brock pushed him back up, and when he hit the headboard of the bed with his back he screamed. His head would not stop pounding, he could not see, he could not think beyond the pain.

“Have some water.”

There was a glass pressed against his lips and Steve thought he could almost taste the grains of melted sand that made the glass a glass. The water was too cold, too warm against his skin, he almost screamed when it went down his throat and his mind had to process the new information; the feel, the taste, the temperature inside of him as it slipped to his stomach.

“I’ll get you some aspirin, yeah? I got a bottle of the stronger dose the techs made for you.” Steve may have nodded, but only remembered curling over with a feeble groan in response.

He could not stop the screaming in his mind. Rumlow did this to him. He needed to get away. He had been so close before. He remembered what had happened, but only in the vaguest way; flashes of thoughts stabbing his already bleeding mind.

Rumlow pushed his mouth open and put something inside — pills — before forcing Steve to drink more of the water.

“You’ll feel better in a little bit.”

Steve did not believe him. Steve was dying. Rumlow’s hand rested on the back of Steve’s neck and Steve sobbed again. Rumlow was talking to him, murmuring in his ear, but Steve did not hear it. He pulled Steve back over to him, and rested Steve’s head on his shoulder. Steve was shaking violently, which made him feel like his brain was rattling in his skull.

Rumlow took one of Steve’s hands, balled up in a tight fist, and started working his fingers open. “You need to relax, babe. You’re hurting yourself.”

Steve opened his eyes for a brief moment to see small gouges where his nails had been digging into his palms, drops of blood welling up onto the skin. He thought he might vomit again, shutting his eyes, leaning back into Rumlow.

“Talk to me, Steve.”

“It hurts,” he whispered. “G-god, it hurts.”

“The aspirin will kick in soon.”

Steve was crying into Brock’s chest, shuddering on the bed.

“Go to sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”

* * *

_“I know something that’ll make you feel better,” Steve murmured with a smile._

_“Oh?” Brock asked. Steve smirked and started moving down Brock’s body, settling his face over the man’s crotch, toying with the hem of his sweatpants at the dip of his hip. He ran his fingers over the skin, slowly, softly, barely touching Brock. The man chuckled above him. “You itching for a smack, babe? Quit teasing.”_

_“You can barely lift your hand, Brock. I guess that makes you all mine.”_

_Brock laughed, and it turned into a moan when Steve started mouthing his cock through his pants._

_“I’m a bad influence on you. You never used to be so mean.”_

_“I’m a mean, crotchety, old man,” Steve murmured, slowly, so very slowly pulling Brock’s pants down, inch by inch, mouthing at each little strip of skin he exposed. “I’m a cougar, apparently. Isn’t that the term?”_

_“I think that’s—“ Brock groaned again. “—only women, babe.”_

_“You’re the young, hip one in this relationship technically. I’ll defer to your judgement.”_

_Brock was laughing, but then started coughing. Steve stopped and reached over and grabbed the glass of orange juice from the nightstand. Brock closed his eyes and his head fell back on the pillow. “I don’t think I’m up for your kind of ‘better’ right now, babe.”_

_“Sorry,” Steve said._

_“Don’t be. ‘Ppreciate the gesture.”_

_“Can I do anything?”_

_“Just hang out. It’s nice having another body in the bed.”_

_Steve smiled at him as Brock turned over to his side and fumbled around for the covers. Steve pulled the blanket up over his shoulders and slid off the bed. He hated that Brock was sick, he really did, but he felt useful for the first time in a very, very long time. Things would turn around when Brock was better, but Steve let himself enjoy being able to help, even a little bit. “Just grabbing your computer. I won’t be far.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

The next time he woke up his stomach no longer was roiling inside of him as badly. His head was still pounding, but not so terribly; his vision no longer blurring. He was resting seated up against the headboard still, but could not see Rumlow, he only heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom.

His ankles were free. Well, freer than his wrists. There was still the long chain on his left leg, but he had much more maneuverability than before. In an instant he awkwardly flipped around and faced the wall, arms crossing, pressing his feet against the bed frame he was attached to, desperate to get enough leverage to pull his wrists free.

He pulled as hard as he could, but the chain did not break, the frame stayed solid. He kept pulling, feeling the metal of the cuff digging into his wrists, breaking his skin, becoming slick with his blood. Maybe he could rip off his arms, then he could run, then he’d be free. He let out a frustrated grunt, changing the angle, digging his feet into the headboard, frantically pulling against the restraints. They weren’t even that thick. He should have been able to rip the chains with just his fingers, bend the cuffs like aluminum foil. Steve almost sobbed, tears were welling up in his eyes. What was wrong with him?

How could he have been so stupid? His mind was racing. This was his fault; he had been so blind, so desperate for attention that he got himself into this mess. Part of him wished the headache was still there, burning into him so he wouldn’t be able to think about it, punishing him for being such a fool. He deserved the pain, he needed the distraction. He could not pull the cuffs away from the bed. 

The bed dipped behind him, and still he pulled, forcing down a scream when Rumlow knelt behind him and pressed his lips to the back Steve’s neck. He tried to throw him off, but Rumlow did not leave. He sat behind Steve and watched patiently as he pulled at the cuffs.

“You’re bleeding,” Rumlow said after a moment. Steve could smell Rumlow’s shampoo.

Steve did not respond, only to pull harder, a loud cry sounding from his throat as he strained against the restraints. He grew more frantic, feet slipping against the wall, fingernails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists in the cuffs. He kicked the headboard. It should have been a hard enough blow to leave a dent, but nothing happened. He heard a high, panicked whine before realizing he was the one making the sound. He jerked his arms in the restraints, not caring about the pain. He screamed, his breath coming fast and heavy through his nose.

Rumlow kissed him on the shoulder as he trembled staring at the wall, face wet, clenching his jaw.

“So scared. You have to learn to let that go.” Steve forced himself not to scream at the cuffs again. “I’ll get you some food. You need to keep your strength up. What’s coming next isn’t going to be fun.”

The bed shifted underneath him and he heard Rumlow walk across the room to the kitchen.

“Why can’t I break out of the cuffs?” He asked the wall, his voice was surprisingly steady for how terrified he felt.

“Because you’re not meant to break out of them.”

“So you’re just going to keep me in your apartment until I die? Is that it?”

“No. I’ll let you out when you’re ready.”

Steve huffed. “I’ve kinda been ready.”

“It’ll happen soon enough.”

He heard the sound of Rumlow cracking eggs and scrambling them in a bowl. He let out a wet sigh and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wall. He kept tugging at the chains, feeling the blood drip down from his wrists onto the bed, smelling the food Rumlow was making mere feet away.

His hands in this position were close enough that he could look at the cuffs on his wrists and ankle. He brought his foot over to his hand and ran his fingers over the ankle cuff. He could barely even see a seam or a hinge. They opened, he knew that because Rumlow opened them easily, Steve knew he had not imagined it, but he could not see how. All he saw was the small blinking light and the ring where the chain attached. He stared at it, shaking his head. Maybe SHIELD had this kind of technology, these kind of specialized handcuffs but would Rumlow even have access to them? Would he have the means to steal them?

Or had someone let him take them?

“Come on, you need to eat something before we start again.”

Steve did not reply. He rolled Rumlow’s hand off of his shoulder when the other man got back on the bed behind him. He could smell the eggs and bacon. He heard Rumlow set down the plate on the nightstand. There was something awful in the way Rumlow’s fingers ran down his spine.

“Turn around.” Steve tensed, staring at the wall, gripping the chains on the cuffs, hands slipping from the blood and sweat. “Turn around, Steve.” He curled away when Rumlow’s hand ran along the back of his neck. “Babe, things are going to get much worse. You’ll regret not eating.”

“Then I’ll regret it. I’m not eating. I’m not fucking hungry.”

Steve could have screamed when his stomach decided at that moment to grumble loudly into the small apartment. He could just imagine the smirk Rumlow was shooting at him.

Rumlow’s arms wrapped around Steve’s waist, hands running over his stomach, reaching up and brushing against his nipples. Steve shuddered, revulsed. His head was throbbing. He knew that he was starving for all intents and purposes. His body needed fuel and by his count, except for the fruit he had thrown up — _except for the semen he licked off of Rumlow’s stomach, off of his fingers from inside of him;_ that image came back to him like a punch to the gut — Steve had been here for at least three nights, maybe longer, could not be more than five nights, unless the sedative was much stronger than he realized. He had not really eaten since the drugged dinner Rumlow gave him that started all this. Experience told him he could last a good while longer, at least another four or five days without losing functionality, but it would not be pleasant.

He jerked forward when Rumlow’s hand snuck down his back and squeezed his ass. Rumlow followed him forward and he was pinned against the headboard and wall, hands pulled tight by the cuffs, legs bent awkwardly in front of him. he could not get any leverage as he tried to push back against the other man. He could feel Rumlow’s breath on his face as Rumlow kneaded his rear.

“Steve, babe.” Steve bit his lip, turning away from mouth at his ear. “I know you think you’re being strong and stoic, but the fact that you’re here means you’ve already lost. It means it’s too late. You took the first step. You’re already walking the path. We’re still taking a break right now. You need to eat. It’s going to get worse.”

“You manipulated me, drugged me, and raped me. You really think I’m on this path?” _You think it could get worse? How could it possibly get worse?_

“You’ve been on this path since you let me kiss you on the Namibia op. You’re terrified. You’ve been wanting to surrender for so long I could smell it on you when I first met you. Every fucking day we’ve been together I could see you almost begging to be pushed further, begging to take the fear away. The only thing I decided was when you were ready enough to make the jump.”

“Yeah? And what made you decide?”

“I think you know, babe.”

Steve frowned; he did not know how to respond, did not know what he meant. Instead he clenched his jaw, staring resolutely ahead at the wall, masking his confusion.

“Let me tell you something, babe. When I told them killing you wasn’t an option they asked me for an honest assessment of you. I said, ‘He wants to be controlled so bad he’s gonna go blind with it.’ And when they asked what that meant I told them. You know what I told them? I told them with Hydra behind you, nothing could stop you, nothing could stop us. If we could break you? make you ours? You could transcend humanity like you were meant to. You’d be a god, and we’d hold the leash.”

“Ever think I may not be interested in being a god?” _Ever thought I may not want a leash?_

“I know you’re scared, babe. People are always scared of what they don’t understand. Power they don’t understand. You can be so much more.” Steve did not know how to respond to that either. Rumlow’s hand on his back grew soft. He cupped Steve’s head and turned him to face him.“Don’t you want to be better?”

* * *

_“You’re not ready to go back to work, Brock.”_

_“Yeah. That’s true.”_

_“Then what are you doing?”_

_“Getting ready for work.”_

_“No, come on. Back to bed. Wait until you’re better.”_

_“I’m fin—“ he started coughing again, loud and dry and hacking._

_“Come on. Don’t you want to be better?”_

_“Yeah, but—“_

_“Back to bed. I won’t take no for an answer.”_

_Brock slumped against the door frame, relief on his features. “Okay. Good to know.”_

* * *

“Babe, don’t you want to be better?”

“Not like this.”

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me why I don’t want to become a member of a long-forgotten organization I literally gave my life to destroy? Why I don’t want to break?”

“In the end everyone breaks,” Rumlow sighed. “I just wish you weren’t so scared of it. You already let go once. And you were so good, babe.”

“Were you scared? When Jack did this to you?” Steve did not want to ask the question, it just came out. He shook his head, trying to think clearly. Why was he talking at all? And Jack never did this to Rumlow. Jack was a church-going man. Rumlow was insane. This was not real. Hydra was gone.

“Not nearly as scared as you are now.” Steve flinched when Rumlow touched him on the wrist. “Turn around.”

Steve finally gave in and let himself be turned around. He sat leaning back against the headboard once more, bringing his knees to his chest by instinct alone, hating the desperation to feel small, to protect himself. Rumlow leaned over and grabbed the plate of the food from the night stand. Steve stared at him as he picked up a piece of bacon and held it in front of Steve’s mouth. Steve turned away. His stomach rumbled loudly once more, the smell of the bacon made his mouth water, and Steve rolled his eyes. Rumlow chuckled and ran his thumb over Steve’s lips, holding Steve from jerking his head away again.

He held the bacon against Steve’s mouth. Steve clenched his jaw, closed his eyes. It smelled incredible.

“You have to eat.”

Steve jerked his head back as best he could. “What’s it laced with? More of the aphrodisiac? More of the benzo? If you want me fucking helpless just keep me that way with drugs. Stop fucking—“

Rumlow tapped him gently on the nose. Steve, startled, turned to face him once more. Rumlow took a large bite of the bacon, chewing it inches from his face. “It’s not laced with anything,” he said after swallowing. “You just need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You can’t starve your way out of this. I know where you are right now, and I know what you’re feeling.”

“You have no idea what I’m feeling!”

“I was good too. Maybe not as good as Captain America, but I might’ve been just as good as Steve Rogers.” He put the bacon down and stroked Steve’s face. “I thought there’s no way, no way I can do this. No way I can give in to Hydra. I’d die first.”

Steve’s hands were balled into fists, his jaw clenched. _I’d die first._ That was hitting a little too close to home.

“I was a soldier, I was serving my country, I had lost friends. Hydra was everything I stood against, just like you. But I was scared, just like you. Rollins could see it. Just like I can see it in you. You’re terrified. You were so scared of living your life without purpose. Your purpose died with you on that plane. My purpose died with me in Mogadishu, died when I came back here and there was nothing left of my old life. I was scared to break, you’re scared to break. But when I did, Steve? When I finally let go? It was like I could finally see again. There was purpose. There was order. Things made sense again. Do you remember what that feels like? Things making sense? Nothing’s made sense to you for a long time. Not in this century or the last. You’re so scared of what you’re going to do with yourself, but there’s another way. Let me show you.”

Steve stared at him. Rumlow believed every single thing he was saying, which made Steve all the more horrified.

“I’m going to try to make this as good for you as I possibly can, but it’s hard, Stevie. It’s so hard, babe. This next part is going to leave you a real mess. You need to eat beforehand.”

“I’m not hungry,” Steve said again, but the words did not have as much strength as before.

“You’re starving. I know all about your metabolism. No one’s here to judge if you if you eat before the next part.”

“What is the next part?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“It can’t be any fucking worse than the last few days.”

“You’ve never been more wrong.”

Steve stared. Rumlow was deadly serious. Their eyes stayed locked for a long time. Steve had always thought he was able to stare Rumlow down. He wondered now if Rumlow had been letting him. He was exhausted and hungry, shaky and feeling like his skin was not his own from all the drugs and chemicals that Rumlow had shot him up with. The idea that things were going to get worse left him more terrified than he cared to admit.

“Here’s what’s going to happen Steve. This is still the break. You’re gonna eat some food. Then we’re gonna fuck—“ Steve flinched, turning away. “—slow and sweet. I won’t even make you say ‘Hail Hydra’ this one time. It’ll be just like before. I want this to be good for you. Because after we’re done, you’re going to have a really, really bad day.”

Steve finally turned away, staring at the bed. A fresh wave of panic was rising up within him, different than before. He could not get out of this. The wheels in his head kept turning, trying to find a way out, desperate and cold, and he was coming up with nothing. He could not fight down the quick, strained breaths that barely filled his lungs. His wrists were burning and itching as they healed under the cuffs. Rumlow cupped his head in both his hands, pressed their lips together. Steve could not even bring himself to pull away. He sat there, limp while Rumlow kissed him.

“Alright,” Rumlow said as he pulled back. “I made bacon and eggs.”

* * *

_“Here, babe. Some bacon and eggs. For taking care of me.”_

_“Ooh, my favorite,” Steve lied. His favorite was waffles, but no one made them right since Bucky shipped out in ’41._

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“‘Kay, open up.” Steve shot him a withering look. He bit his lip and lifted his hand as high as the cuff would let him, chain rattling quietly into the apartment. Rumlow sighed and shook his head. “Can’t undo the cuffs right now. Sorry, babe.”

“I can’t eat if—“

Rumlow held the piece of bacon in front of Steve’s mouth. Steve leaned back, his head bumping lightly against the wall behind him. He almost started laughing. 

“Come on, babe. It’s not that bad.”

“You want to hand feed me. It’s—“

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Rumlow, even you have to admit that things are slightly different now.”

“Come on. You have to eat.”

Steve sighed and finally leaned forward and took a bite of the food in front of him. He ate mechanically, eyes not seeing anything as he stared ahead at the opposite wall of the apartment. Rumlow was blessedly quiet as he fed Steve, though occasionally he would stop, stroke Steve on the face, murmur encouragement. Steve had no idea how to react to that.

“Do you want anything else?”

“I want you to let me go.”

“Steve…”

Steve sighed again. “Water?”

“Okay. Okay, babe.”

When Rumlow left to put away the plate and bring back water Steve tugged idly at the cuffs. His wrists were bruised still, but he thought perhaps places where he had broken skin were starting to heal. They looked worse from the dried blood crusting them now, brown and splotchy. Rumlow tilted the glass at Steve’s lips and he drank the water, icy cold on his throat sore from screaming. He could not take his eyes off his wrist.

“Do you want me to clean them?”

“No,” he whispered back. “I just…” _Look at the bruises, look Brock. Do you like them?_

_I like you._

“Look at me.” Rumlow took his head and turned him away from his wrist. “You’re scared. I know you’re scared.”

“Stop saying that. I’m not—“

“Come on. Come on, babe. It’s time.”

Rumlow pushed Steve’s knees down and knelt between them, cupping Steve’s face, pressing another slow, soft kiss to his lips.

“No, Brock, don’t—“ he tried to move away, with nowhere to go. “I don’t want this.”

“It’s alright. It’s just like before, babe.”

“Haven’t you done enough? Wasn’t last time enough? You had me right where you wanted me! I said it! I said it over and over, while I— while I— Wasn’t it enough?! Brock, I said it! I said what you wanted, can’t you just—” 

He tried not to be frantic, but it was bubbling up inside of him anyway. Rumlow was only inches away from his face. The flashy images from before, from the way he rode Rumlow, the way he kept moaning the terrible words. He looked away, back to the bruises on his wrists, clenching his jaw.

“Shh, babe. It’s alright.”

“What do you want from me?” Steve asked.

“Babe, come on.”

“Please don’t,” he tried, head shaking, face tight.

“It’ll be good. I promise. I always keep my promises, remember? I wasn’t lying about that, babe.”

Their eyes met. Steve was quiet for a long time, shaking a little under his steady gaze. He remembered. Rumlow kept his promises. He always had. Even the one about the benzodiazepine. Steve hated so much that, for that moment in time, things had been better, just like Rumlow said they would be. The memory of the drug was hazy, the things that had actually happened were liquid, ephemeral in his mind but he knew that it had been better. He had felt so much better. Things had tasted sweet. There was nothing to be afraid of for those few hours. He missed that feeling.

“Like be— it’ll be like before?” he finally asked, voice breaking overthe words. “Before this? You won’t make me say—“

“No, you don’t have to say it this time. It’ll be like before.”

Rumlow pulled back and ran his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks, over his eyelids. Steve closed his eyes and felt himself giving the smallest of nods. He let Rumlow kiss him again, his mouth opening slowly. Rumlow guided him down onto his back, sliding him across the sheets carefully. Steve’s breath hitched as Rumlow’s teeth ran along his neck, as his hands ghosted over his chest. 

“So sweet, Steve.”

“Brock?” His voice was so soft, he hated it.

“Yeah, babe?”

“It’s— this is still the break?”

“Yeah. What d’you need?”

“D-don’t use the cold lube,” Steve whispered. “I don’t—“ He turned away, staring at the sheets, at his bloody wrist in the cuff, cheeks feeling hot.

“Okay… okay, babe.”

It was muscle memory. He knew Rumlow was running his hands down his body, knew he was gasping, moaning softly at the right points, reacting in the right way. He knew Rumlow was taking him in his mouth, lips wandering further down and using his tongue _there_. He felt the fingers, the lube. He knew Rumlow was inside of him, thrusting in and hitting that spot that made Steve tremble, knew the other man was stroking his cock, but it did not register. He knew he winced, moaned when Rumlow lifted Steve’s leg over shoulder and thrust in deeper. He knew Rumlow reached up and took Steve’s hands, pinning them down firmly, fingers intertwining, making the bruises ache against the cuffs. He even knew that he came with a quiet, strained breath feeling the warm cum splatter on his stomach, feeling the sticky mess between his legs. He knew Rumlow fetched a wet towel and wiped Steve down, placing a small kiss on Steve’s stomach when he finished.

He knew all this was happening, but it was as if it was happening to another person. Steve, the real Steve, was nursing the barest whisper of a thought. It was growing to fruition in his mind, terrifying and hopeful all at once. As Rumlow whispered sweet things to him like he always did when they slept together, the thought crystalized within him. The man curled over him, protective warm, and Steve drifted, a single idea in his mind.

If he wanted to get out of this, he was going to have to kill Brock Rumlow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, the end of this chapter is really kind of sad. Whoops. (Edit: I should clarify. Not the very end of the chapter, but when Steve doesn't want to have sex with Rumlow. whooops!)
> 
> [Yell at me on tumblr.](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

“Everything hurts, Buck. I don’t feel good.” Steve said softly, sitting at the table in their tenement building room. He was both small like before the serum, and big like after it. He did not fit in his skin.

“That’s ‘cause you’re always picking fights, punk.”

“This wasn’t a fight, I don’t think. I don’t know what happened.”

“Everything’s a fight with you. You never know when to quit.”

“You like that about me.”

Bucky smiled at him, snow falling around him in the mountains in the alps. He buttoned up his jacket a little higher, looking at the zipline they were going to use to jump down onto the train. “I don’t mind that about you,” he said.

But then he frowned, not looking at Steve’s face anymore.

“Your wrists are bruised.”

•••

Steve’s eyes opened and he pulled in a shaky breath, pulling his arms around him before feeling the cuffs dig into his bruised skin once more.

“It’s okay, babe,” Rumlow murmured into his skin as Steve’s heart caught up with him, as his mind started reeling. “It’s okay.”

Steve blinked and realized it had been a dream; the conversation with Bucky had been dream, a terrible mix between haze and lucidity. It had felt real.

He and Rumlow both slept for a little while longer. The calm, lazy, post-sex half-sleep that felt almost familiar. _Hell, without the handcuffs it’d be just right_ , Steve mused. He was grateful for them then. They would remind him of everything that had happened — as if he could forget — and kept him from floating too far away, from letting Rumlow take him in this direction. His eyes closed and opened and closed, and he would see things that weren’t there. Places that weren’t there. People who weren’t there.

The one person who was not there.

At least Bucky couldn’t see him like this, he thought. It was a small blessing. As he drifted in and out of awareness, he could not help but be grateful it; Bucky’s death. It was selfish, he knew that. But it made sense in his mind; if Bucky were alive to see this, to hear about it from Steve — because Steve could never keep anything from Bucky, could never say no to Bucky — Bucky would leave. Why wouldn’t he? Steve would deserve it, he did deserve it. How could he have let this happen? He had been so stupid, even Bucky would not want him anymore.

Steve’s eyes were wet as they closed again, Rumlow curled up next to him. His wrists ached.

After a while, Rumlow stood up from the bed, zipped his pants and found his shirt, putting it back on. Steve started trying to pull himself back to sitting, but stopped when Rumlow put a hand on his ankle and shook his head.

“Stay comfortable. I mean it.”

Steve frowned, watching as the other man walked away towards his closet. He came back with a familiar looking briefcase, setting it on the bed next to Steve.

* * *

_“Cap, don’t touch that!” Rumlow called out across the room. Steve had been reaching to an open briefcase that had been thrown on the floor. He jerked his hand away, taking a step back, pulling his shield in front of him._

_“What is it?”_

_“Give me a sec.”_

_Rumlow stepped over to Steve and tapped into his ear-wig. He stood close enough that Steve could feel the heat from his body on his skin. He tried to keep his breathing steady. There was something about Agent Rumlow that threw Steve off._

_“Peterson, you copy?”_

_“Go ahead,” Peterson’s voice echoed through Steve’s communications device._

_“Get a look at my vid-feed. Is this what I think it is?” Rumlow focused down at the briefcase._

_“Yeah,” said Peterson. “Yeah it is. Authorizing you to bring it in.”_

_“Copy that.”_

_“What is it?” Steve asked._

_“Stolen R &D tech.”_

_“But it’s just a case. It’s empty”_

_“Yeah, I know. But it’s what it’s supposed to hold. The whole package shouldn’t be outside of a vault deep under the Triskilion.”_

_“Shit.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Their eyes met. Steve felt small in his gaze. “Cap, can I trust you to keep this on the down low? People, including most of STRIKE aren’t supposed to know this stuff exists, let alone that it’s gone missing; Fury’s orders. We take the case back for evidence, slip it to Peterson, we don’t make a big deal of it.”_

_Steve nodded. “Understood.” He blinked at Rumlow. The other man was studying him carefully. Steve wondered if Rumlow did not believe him, which bothered him more than he wanted to admit. “You can trust me, Agent Rumlow. I understand. I’ll keep quiet.”_

_Rumlow gave him a small smile. “Good to know…”_

* * *

“Stolen R&D tech?”

“I wasn’t lying then. It had been stolen. Terrorist cell working with Hydra borrowed it and never gave it back. STRIKE and SHIELD was there to take out the cell, the others and I were there to look for any of the tech.”

Steve watched as Rumlow opened the case. Inside were seven hexagons of various sizes, the biggest one was maybe a little smaller than his hand, fingers outstretched, the smallest one about as wide as a golf ball. Rumlow took one of the smaller ones, and placed it on a box in the corner of the briefcase, where it started to glow blue, like it was charging.

“I’m gonna let you feel what this is like for a bit before we get started.”

“Why?”

“So you know what you’re getting into.”

Steve swallowed. Rumlow was taking fine tools and working on the small hexagon. “What is it?” he finally asked. “You want me to know what I’m getting into,” he added with a weak smirk when Rumlow shot him a look.

“It’s a Leech.”

Steve nodded, _typical._ “You said they weren’t real. That night at the bar, you said they weren’t real.

“Well, I was lying then.”

“Tell me about it?” Steve hated the vague quiver in his voice that he could not shake. He remembered talking with the team about Leeches. Pain so bad it could kill. Steve did not like pain, he was relatively normal that way, but he also knew that he reacted very differently to it. Someone was ready to punch him, he grinned and waited. _I can do this all day._ He wondered if he would feel the same way about this.

“This is a Leech. It sits on the skin; these little parts on the bottom burrow under until they find your nerves. They use electricity and a chemical cocktail to inflict pain and send signals directly through your nervous system. Seven Leeches connect and makes a Tentacle.”

“Tentacle?” Steve almost laughed. “Perfect for Hydra.”

“Hydra’s the only one who uses the Tentacle, so it makes sense.”

“Should I be worried? A weapon only Hydra uses? Seen those before, not very impressed.”

“It’s not a weapon. We only use the Tentacle for this.”

“This?”

“Breaking.” Rumlow sighed, meeting Steve’s eye. “We use the Leeches for interrogation and—“

“Are you planning on interrogating me?”

“I’m planning on hurting you. That’s what the Leech is. Just pain.” Steve did not respond. “We use the Tentacles for breaking initiates alone. Only Hydra knows that pain. We’ve all done it. It’s not pretty, but we’ve all done it. We usually—“ he stopped himself, looking for the right words. “We usually break out the Tentacle sooner, but you’re something else. Regular humans break a little easier than you. We’ve got a ways to go before you get the Tentacle.”

Steve frowned. “Why didn’t you?”

“Because you like pain.” Steve blinked at him. “You’re not ready for the Tentacle. You’re guilty and you’re scared and you’re guilty _because_ you’re scared so you feel like you deserve to be punished. And I’ve seen you, Steve. The things that hurt normal people don’t hurt you, and the things that don’t hurt normal people hurt you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know what would’ve happened if I started with the Tentacle? You would have just buckled up and stared at the wall and waited it out. It would’ve killed you.”

Steve figured he would probably be doing that anyway, but was not going to tell Rumlow that. In fact, Steve knew that’s what he was going to be doing.

“So I’m going to use the Leeches and I’m going to use the sound, and the vibrator again first. I’m only going to stop when you’re too strung out and desperate and screaming ‘Hail Hydra’ if only to stop the pain. Then I’m going to make things worse. You will break, you will let go of your fear.”

Steve tried not to react, but was certain he failed when Rumlow mentioned the sounding rod and vibrators. He was sure he frowned when Rumlow said he was going to make things worse. He swallowed and clenched his fists, turning away from the other man.

“It’s going to be hours, Steve. Hours of just pain, then just confusion and fear and overstimulation before we even start with the Tentacle. Because the Tentacle is different. The Tentacle stops hurting when you let go. And you’ll be so desperate for it you won’t have a choice.”

“And if I don’t? Let go?”

“Then it keeps hurting. People don’t last long with the Tentacle and I need you broken down so you do let go. I’m doing you a favor. It’s better this way, trust me.”

“I’m not going to let go. You know I can’t do that.”

“You can, babe. You will. Got a few tricks up my sleeve to guarantee it. Sorry.” He almost looked sorry when he spoke, which confused Steve more than anything else.

“Fuck you.” Steve could not make the words sound as strong as he would have liked.

“We’ll be doing a little of that too.”

Steve turned away, looking up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes.

“Fifteen seconds, just so you know what you’re getting into, okay?”

“Is that a question? Can I say no?”

Rumlow sighed. “You’re right handed, yeah?”

Steve turned back to him and stared before finally answering with a nod. Rumlow nodded back and reached towards the Leech that had been glowing at the corner of the briefcase. He held it gingerly in his hand and slid up the bed, towards the cuffs. He took Steve’s left hand and pulled the fingers back and placed the Leech on his palm. Steve did not flinch when it touched his skin. Nothing happened at first. He could not shake it off though, he flexed his fingers. It felt like it was suctioned on, airtight and gripping.

Rumlow pressed a few buttons on the briefcase.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Just fucking do it.”

Steve clenched his jaw and stared resolutely up at the ceiling. Rumlow pressed a few more buttons. There was a soft whirring noise, he could see out of the corner of his eye the Leech glowing on his palm, blue, blue blue, _red_ —

And then Steve knew his arm was being torn off. He screamed, grunting in pain. All the muscles in his arm were contracting, his bones were shifting, his fingers spasming. He was yanking at the cuff, desperately, frantically trying to get away from the Leech. He stared and saw his arm changing color, veins turning black and purple under his skin, reaching down through his wrist and forearm; he thought he could feel the black worming its way in between his muscles and bones, pulling things apart slowly, inch by inch under his skin. It was a nightmare, he could not pull away.

And as quickly as it started it stopped. Fifteen seconds had passed. Steve crashed down onto the bed, his arm trembling violently in the cuff, the sound of the chain hitting the bed frame echoing into the small apartment. He pulled in shuddering gasps of oxygen, blinking away tears from his eyes. He groaned when Rumlow pulled off the Leech, shuddering as the man ran a hand down his arm.

“I told you things were going to get worse, babe.”

Steve did not respond. He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. He heard Rumlow puttering around with the briefcase.

“I can do this all day,” he finally panted out.

Rumlow let out a bark of laughter, leaned down and kissed him. Steve was too tired, too shocked from the pain to pull away. “That’s my good boy.”

His arm was still shaking, he stared at it for a moment as it trembled in the cuff. He almost thought it was trembling hard enough for the bruises to just flake off, the skin to fall to the bed leaving his arm clean once more. Rumlow stepped off the bed for a moment and Steve finally let himself let out a small, shuddering breath. This was going to be bad. He felt a well of dread rising up inside of him that he desperately tried to force down. He clenched his jaw and waited for Rumlow to return.

“No gag this time?” he asked when Rumlow set his supplies on the bed next to him. He did not sound as brave as he wanted though.

“Well, how are you going to say what I want you to say with a gag in your mouth?”

“I’m not going to say it.” Steve said, more to himself than Rumlow. _Not again, you can’t._ “I won’t.”

Rumlow gave a small hum and started working. He cuffed Steve’s ankles back down to the bed and ran his hand up and down Steve’s leg for a moment before moving back up and sitting down next to Steve. He opened the lube and brought his hand down between Steve’s legs once again. Steve bit back a hiss at the cold gel touching him, at Rumlow’s fingers scissoring inside of him, at the press of the vibrator and the godawful stretch from not being prepared enough to take it.

When Rumlow opened the box with the sounding rods Steve’s eyes squeezed shut and he pressed his head back against the pillow. It was almost easier. The feel of the cold lube on his cock was still terrible, but at least this way he did not have to see the thin metal rod slowly go into his body in that so wrong way. He was shuddering by the time Rumlow was done, a small whine falling from his lips when Rumlow twisted the sound inside of him.

“You really don’t like that, do you?” Steve did not respond save to have his body start trembling on the bed. “Maybe when this is all over, I’ll work with you. We can move up to thicker rods. You can learn to enjoy it. Some guys really like this.”

Steve had a very hard time believing that. “L-let’s not but just— but just say we did.” Steve was already feeling sick and shaky and he hated the way his voice was already breaking. “So, the Leeches? h-how long does the battery run on those thi-ings?”

Rumlow kissed him again, “I knew this would happen. You’re gonna try and suck it up, ride it out, huh?” His hands trailed down Steve’s chest, moving down to the vibrator between his legs.

“I’d hate to—“ he groaned when Rumlow turned it on, setting it higher than before. Even now it felt overwhelming, Steve actually did not know how he was going to get through this. “dis–disappoint.”

“You could never disappoint me, babe.”

“St-op calling me that.”

“You like it, you told me.”

“N-no, I didn’t?”

“You were pretty chatty with the benzo, babe.” Steve looked away, but jerked his hips when Rumlow ran a palm along his cock. “I think we can skip the bullet vibe this time too.”

“This time?” Steve had not meant to ask the question, but there it was, hanging in the air, putting all his cards on the table.

Rumlow smirked at him. “This time,” he replied enigmatically.

Steve rolled his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow, but that was a mistake. It was too late to react when Rumlow came up to his face, holding the blindfold in front of his eyes. He jerked his face away, a low curse on his lips but Rumlow was quick and soon the blindfold was tight around his eyes. Steve hated it. It was almost worse this time because he knew what was happening, he knew he could not get away. Rumlow held his face gently in his hand.

“You’re okay. You’re doing good. You’re so good.”

Steve hated the feeling deep in the back of his mind that he might be starting to believe Rumlow when he said such things.

“Rumlow, you don’t— you don’t have to do this. I don’t—”

Rumlow kissed him once more. Even now it felt like too much, there was too much feeling in him, made worse when he could not see.

He heard a soft whirring noise. Something cold was placed on his sternum. Steve shuddered, feeling the Leech stick to his skin. Then one on the inside of his thigh, on his left bicep, the bottom of his right foot. Rumlow pushed him over and put one on his back, under his shoulder blade. Another was put near his armpit on his right arm. The last one Rumlow put on the side of his neck.

Steve hated himself when he whispered, “Brock, don’t do this.”

“You’re scared. But this has to happen. I’ll make it worth it in the end. You’ll see.”

Steve could not even fathom what he could mean by that. “Please…”

Rumlow kissed him, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. There was the smallest sliver of light shining through the edge of the blindfold. Steve could see a glimmer of blue. He swallowed and clenched his fists, breath shaking in his lungs.

“You ready, babe?”

Steve took one last breath. “Do it.”

The light blinked, blue, blue, blue…

 _red_.

* * *

_“Fuck, Cap, sometimes I think you like getting hit,” Rumlow said as he walked into the medbay after the mission, tossing a fresh shirt to Steve._

_“So I’ve been told.”_

_“Could you give us a few minutes alone, Nurse Hamilton?”_

_She gave them both a nod and left the room. Steve called a soft, “Thanks Marcie.” to her retreating back._

_After she left, Rumlow turned and faced Steve. The temperature of the room dropped at his glare. “That was reckless. You pull that shit again I’m getting Fury to put you on desk duty until you’re dead.”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_“I don’t care how super powered you are, the mission comes first, and you put the mission in jeopardy. SHIELD only works— STRIKE only works if we do what we’re supposed do. If there’s order. This is your third mission with me and each time you’ve been jumping in front of bullets and off of buildings and I can’t have it any more. You can do that shit when you’re told to do that shit, not when you think it’s time.”_

_“I was just—“_

_“You were just putting yourself in danger—“_

_“Because I can take it!”_

_“Because you like pain!”_

_Steve did not know what to say to that. He gaped at Rumlow, thrown._

_“You keep pulling this shit and I’ve had enough of it. I don’t give a fuck that you can take a harder hit, you need to be where you’re told to be. You’re not doing this shit for the good of the mission or team anymore, you’re doing it because you’ve gotten self destructive and suicidal and if it happens again, you’re out. It’s that fucking simple.”_

_Steve wanted to fight, but there was something in Agent Rumlow’s eyes that made him bite his tongue. ‘Suicidal’ threw him off, but in many ways it was the exact word to describe what he’d been doing, but more than that how he’d been feeling. He could not even maintain eye contact with the other man, turning away to look at the floor._

_“Rogers?”_

_“I—“ he cleared his throat. “Sorry Agent Rumlow. I— it won’t—“_

_He flinched violently when Rumlow’s hand was cupping his neck, hand warm on Steve’s skin. “Look at me.” Steve was frozen in his eyes, heart pounding. “I know where you are. You’re lost and you’re tired. Getting hurt, even to save others, isn’t the way to fix this. Pain has to matter. Pain has to have meaning. You’re not doing this for the right reasons.”_

_Steve was quiet, breathing quick, staring at Rumlow._

_Rumlow let go and took a step back. “I know what you’re doing. I know how good it feels to get hurt these days, because that’s the only way you feel alive. I know it better than you do. And it needs to stop, now. The pain has to matter, do you understand?”_

_Steve nodded. “It won’t happen again,” he replied, his voice shaking slightly._

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve had stopped screaming after the first hour. Or maybe the first ten minutes, he could not be sure. That did not mean it hurt any less, just that his lungs stopped letting him scream. His whole body was strung out tight as a wire, his muscles burning. Every time he thought he was getting used to it, something in the Leeches changed, pulling a different muscle, nerve, or bone in a new direction, twisting his body into a shaking wreck.

“Two hours, babe.” Rumlow was very far away.

It had been two hours. It felt like it had been years, minutes. He could not gauge anything beyond the pain. He was keening in the back of his throat, a low whine with every panting breath coming out of his lungs. The sheets beneath him were soaked in sweat. Every now and then Rumlow would run a hand through his hair and he would flinch and cry out before collapsing back into the void of pain

“You can make this stop, babe. I know it hurts.”

Rumlow ran a single finger along the inside of Steve’s thigh, ghosting around the edge of the Leech. Steve whimpered. His finger made the Leech hurt even more, he barely touched the tender, abused flesh of his leg but it felt hard enough that Steve screamed again, the cry tearing out from his sore lungs. It hurt, he was coughing, sputtering, he could taste blood in his mouth from his abused throat.

“Say it, Steve. Let go. Make the pain stop.”

Steve could not even speak. From far away he knew he was shaking his head, and after a moment, Rumlow’s finger was gone. Rumlow was gone and he was sinking back into the pain and sensation alone.

Rumlow tried again in the third hour, and the fourth. That was the only way Steve knew time was passing at all. There was only white and red behind the blindfold.

It was not until the fifth hour that Steve thought he heard whispering. Words floated around him, but he could not make them out, and could not bring himself to care. After a while he realized they were not speaking in English. It was Central European, maybe, or Russian. Steve’s mind filed away the fact for another time. It was as if the Leeches knew he was distracted and started burning acid-hot in his marrow. He was frozen in a silent scream as the pain tore through him.

The bed dipped on both sides of him. A hand circled around the Leech on his chest, another, colder hand rested on his stomach.

“Kiss him.”

Steve whimpered as his mind started spinning. There was a fresh wave of panic in him now. _There’s someone else here!_ He could not even pull at the cuffs at this point, his arms were too tired, they hurt too badly. His head rolled on his shoulders as he tried to turn away, someone’s breath ghosting on the skin of his face.

The cold hand ran down his face. It did not feel right to Steve, the hand was too hard. But nothing felt right then. Then there were lips on his. They were so different from Rumlow’s lips, softer, gentler, the scratch of stubble gone. Steve moaned into the new mouth.

Everything hurt. He was terrified.

“It’s okay, babe. He’s here to help out,” Rumlow said.

“N-no…” he whimpered into the new person’s mouth. But the mouth was on his once more and he could only shudder into the kiss. His face was wet with tears and the cold, hard hand brushed them off of his cheek before it whispered down his jaw and barely moved along the skin of his neck, carefully avoiding the Leech.

The hand moved further, brushing against his nipple as it went down before finally settling next to his cock. Steve wailed into the other man’s mouth, the press of his body against Steve’s was like broken glass, was like a miracle. Skin against skin; the other man was so warm except for his too hard hand.

“You gotta let go. Say the words,” Rumlow said.

Steve shook his head, and the new man was kissing him again. Steve moaned and sobbed into him, body arching off the bed as a cold finger ran up the length of his cock.

“Come on,” said the new man. Steve jerked at the sound. It was familiar, but he could not place it. His mouth hung limply open as the other man ran his teeth along Steve’s neck.

The Leeches were tearing through him. He was certain he was drowning in his own blood. He was crying.

Rumlow was there next to his face on the other side, his thick, calloused, familiar hand running along his chest not nearly as cautiously as the other man. Steve twitched away from it. Rumlow pinched his nipples and twisted his other hand into Steve’s hair. The sensations running through him were overwhelming; he could barely breathe, he could barely think. Two pairs of hands were on him, two sets of lips.

“Take off the blindfold.”

The too hard hand was at his face and, in a moment of blind panic, Steve squeezed his eyes shut as blindfold was removed, pressing his face into his arm. The light was too bright, he did not want to see the stranger, did not want him to be real. He did not want any of this to be real.

“Oh babe, don’t be scared. I brought a gift.”

The Leeches were carving into his bones.

“Open your eyes babe. It’s time to end this.”

“N-no, p-please–“

“It’s alright, babe. I promise.”

Rumlow wiped away a tear that Steve did not even know had fallen and finally Steve blinked his eyes open staring up at the ceiling. The hard hand was there on the other side of his face and he finally looked at the new man in the room.

His blood froze inside of his veins; he almost forgot the pain from the Leeches.

* * *

_“This isn’t your first time, is it, Cap?”_

_“No. But— but it’s been a while.”_

_“Who was your first?”_

_“Are we doing this or what?”_

_“Was it Barnes?”_

_Steve looked away. “Yeah. It was.”_

_“Was it good?”_

_“We were seventeen. It was… fast.” Steve smiled when Rumlow chuckled above him. “But it was good. It was alright.”_

_“Well I hope this is gonna be a little better than alright.”_

_“It’s already feeling pretty decent.”_

_“‘Decent’? I’ve been pulling out all the stops, and you’re calling it ‘decent’?” Steve chuckled, and then started laughing out loud when Rumlow started tickling his ribs._

_“Uncle! Uncle!”_

_Rumlow ground his hips down against Steve’s and Steve moaned into it, arching his body roughly against the other man’s, his smile fading._

_“You alright?”_

_“Yeah, just weird. Thinking about him.” 'Weird' was not the right word, but saying that thinking about Bucky was 'agony' would be a bit of a mood killer. And he wanted this._

_“You need to stop?”_

_“No. It’s—“ he cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”_

_“I’ll try to make this good, okay? Take care of you for him, yeah?”_

_Steve blinked up at him, face growing soft, startled. He reached up and ran his hand over Brock’s face. “Thanks. That— saying that means a lot.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“B-bucky?”

“Who’s Bucky?” the man asked with a small frown. _Bucky asked._

“W-what? B-buck…”

It was him, there in front of Steve. He was dead, Steve knew he was dead yet here he was. Face a little more gaunt, hair longer, skin more pale but it was him. It was Bucky.

His eyes darted between Bucky and Rumlow, confused, frantic. Rumlow just smiled down at him, ran a hand through Steve’s hair. It could not be real; the other man was a lookalike, a clone, a ghost.

He whimpered when the other man, _Bucky, it was Bucky!_ pressed his lips to Steve’s once more, Steve gasping and trembling into him. Steve was terrified. He could not catch his breath. He was frozen on the bed save for the way his body shook like an earthquake from the pain. He did not know what was happening. Rumlow bent in on his other side and started scraping his teeth against Steve’s neck and Steve writhed. He screamed into Bucky’s mouth. There were hands and pain and vibrations everywhere he had skin. Rumlow and Bucky both started running their fingers, their hands along his cock and Steve screamed into Bucky’s mouth, fresh tears streaming from his eyes.

He was falling. There was too much. He could not breathe. He was screaming, he was silent, he was terrified.

“You can end this,” Rumlow murmured into his skin. “Just say the words, and it’ll stop. And you can be with him.”

“No, n-no…” Steve did not even know what he was fighting against, only that he had to keep fighting, he had to hold on, but his grasp was slipping, his mind failing. Bucky was here, he could not focus on anything else, but everything was tearing at his focus.

“Come on,” Bucky said once again. His voice was soft. Softer than Steve remembered, but still the same, still perfect and Steve sobbed. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“Bucky, B-bucky please.” _What was he even asking for?_ He had no idea.

“Come on.”

“I can’t—“

“You can.”

The metal hand was wrapped around his cock and Steve sobbed once more, screamed once more. The Leeches were bleeding something into his intestines, his muscles; acid, or fire, or liquid nitrogen and all Steve knew was that it was hurting even worse now, and it was too much to handle all at once.

“Say it,” Bucky said. “This will stop.”

“ _Bucky_ …” he was moaning. His throat was burning from screaming. “H-help me…”

“Say the words. It’s alright.”

Steve moaned shaking his head, falling further into the pain, into the pleasure of the hands scraping, melting across his sweat-soaked skin.

“Tell him again,” Rumlow’s voice said. “Make him look at you.” The metal hand was on his face (Rumlow’s hand replaced it on his cock, fast, calloused), and he was meeting Bucky’s eye and sinking into it like a stone in water. He could barely keep his eyes open from the pain but now he could not close them, could not look away.

“It’s okay. Say the words.”

“Again. Then tell him you love him.”

“It’s okay. I love you.”

“B-buck…” _I love you. I love you too._

“Again. Say it all, say his name.”

“What is his name?”

“Steve.”

“It’s alright. Say the words. I love you, Steve.”

Steve sobbed once more, a desperate sound coming from his lips. Rumlow’s hand was on his cock stroking madly, fingers twisting the sounding rod, the Leeches burning into his flesh. Bucky was holding his face so close Steve could smell his skin, and his skin smelled the same.

“Let go, Steve. I love you. Say it; _Hail hydra…_ ”

Steve never could say no to Bucky.

_“Hail H-hydra…”_

The pain was gone. The sounding rod was gone. The hands were everywhere. Steve was screaming, sputtering. The sudden absence of pain was almost worse than the presence of it. He was coming, but it was just another overwhelming feeling in his strung out body.

Bucky was kissing him and Bucky was there, but Bucky was dead and Steve was not breathing. His arms pulled against the cuffs to pull Bucky closer, his head was spinning, the world was going dark around the edges.

“Good job, babe. That was amazing,” Rumlow whispered in his ear. And he felt it then. He had done a good job.

“Do you need me for anything else, Agent?”

“Come back in a few hours. I’ll send word. This is better than sniping, yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

“Bucky?” The world was spinning, the pain was gone and his body was finally allowed to rest, but Bucky was off the bed, walking to the door. “Wait— please— h-help me…” _Don’t leave me. I’m sorry._ “B-buc—“

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. You did so good. You were perfect.”

_“Your wrists are bruised.”_

“D-don’t— please—“ _I’m sorry._

Steve blacked out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bad person... whoops.
> 
> Yell at me on [tumblr](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). Also, I'm not really advertising this fic around due to its content matter, so there isn't a rebloggable link for it. If you know people who are interested, feel free to share it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** The end of this chapter has a little bit of zombie-esque gore. More spoiler-y details in the end notes.

_“So,” Rumlow pulled Steve’s legs over his on the couch. Steve froze at the friendly gesture. Sure, they had slept together a few times, but this was different. He made himself relax into the touch. Rumlow’s hand was warm though Steve’s pants on his ankle. “What is Captain America afraid of?”_

_Steve snorted. “Agent Rumlow, it is common knowledge that Captain America is not afraid of anything. Ask any twelve-year-old.”_

_“You can call me ‘Brock’ you know. I think we’ve reached that point.”_

_“You like me calling you Agent though,” Steve said innocently, foot sliding a little bit up Rumlow’s thigh. He never would have imagined he’d be so forward, so playful with any partner besides maybe Bucky, but Rumlow brought something out in him. A desire to please, to ensure he was adequately sexual. Maybe it was the age difference. Different than Buck. With Bucky Steve could just_ be _. That being said, he sometimes liked this new part of himself more than he ever could have anticipated.. He did not know his place in the world, but being this person for Rumlow was not as bad as turning into the pillar of salt he had been slowly becoming before the two of them started sleeping together. He just wanted to make sure Rumlow still liked him. In public it was impossible but he could be this person in private. He could try._

_“You—“ he coughed, clearing his throat, trying to work up the nerve to say what he wanted to say. “You did last night, anyway.”_

_Rumlow smiled. “There’s all sorts of things I can think of that I wouldn’t mind having you call me in bed.” Steve hummed, toe ghosting over Rumlow’s crotch with a shy grin. “Can think of a couple of choice things to call you, keep teasing me like that.”_

_“You haven’t asked me to stop.”_

_Rumlow held onto his ankle, pulling Steve’s foot away from his crotch just a few inches. Steve almost jerked away, apology on his lips when, of all things, Rumlow started rubbing his foot. It felt amazing, Steve’s eyes rolled back into his skull and he let out a small moan without even realizing it. He flushed bright red, his hand snapping up to his mouth._

_“You like that?”_

_“Rumlow—“_

_“Brock. Seriously babe, call me Brock,” he said, pulling up Steve’s other foot onto his lap._

_“‘Babe’?” Steve tried not to smile around the word, certain he was growing even redder._

_“Too much?”_

_“Call me whatever, it’s fine,” Steve tried — and failed — to sound casual, looking away. He felt warm. Rumlow’s hand on his feet felt amazing._

_“Okay,” Rumlow said softly. He continued to rub Steve’s foot, as Steve sat there blushing. “Feel okay?”_

_“Y-yeah. It feels good.”_

_“So, you never answered my question.”_

_“What?”_

_“What are you afraid of?”_

_Steve blinked at him for a moment, finally meeting his eye. “I don’t— I’m afraid of a lot of things, I guess. Isn’t everybody?”_

_“Like what?”_

_“Heights.”_

_“You regularly jump out of planes and off of buildings without parachutes. I literally scolded you for doing that because you were being crazy about it.”_

_“Doesn’t mean I’m not scared of them.”_

_Brock laughed. “Come on. What else?”_

_“I don’t know,” he said softly after a moment. “A lot of stuff.”_

_Rumlow stopped rubbing his foot and gave Steve a curious look. He moved between Steve’s legs and all but crawled over the couch to pin Steve down. He was so close, Steve’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you scared now?” Steve shook his head. “You don’t have to be brave for me,” he whispered. “Are you scared?”_

_“I don’t— I don’t know what you’re doing.”_

_“Are you scared?” he asked again._

_Steve bit his lip and turned away, hand coming up to brush away bangs from his face that weren’t there anymore because he had cut his hair to fit in. His breath hitched just a little bit as he turned and saw Rumlow right in front of him. He finally nodded._

_“A little.”_

_“That’s okay,” Rumlow said. He pressed his lips to Steve’s and kissed him deeply. Steve almost relaxed. He could do this. This made more sense. He could be lips for Rumlow to kiss. That was so much easier. “You don’t have to be scared with me. Do you believe me?”_

_Rumlow’s hand cupped his face, and Steve’s heart was pounding, something inside of him was shifting and this was good._

_“Y-yeah,” Steve said with a small sigh. “I think I do.”_

_“Good. Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve jerked up, eyes opening, muscles screaming under his skin, heart pounding. How much time had passed? Where was Bucky? What was happening? He scanned the small apartment frantically but only Rumlow was there, sitting on a chair at the small kitchen table, working on his tablet. Steve yanked on the cuffs futilely.

“Where is he?” he called to Rumlow.

“He’ll be back in a little while. We’ve got some things to take care of first.”

Rumlow did not look up from his tablet. Steve grunted in frustration, in panic, pulling on the cuffs, trying to sit up, but held down by the cuffs on his ankles. “Rumlow, what’s going on? Why was he— was it—“ Rumlow did not react. Steve saw red. “Rumlow! Hey! Rumlow! LOOK AT ME!”

Rumlow tapped on the screen of his tablet a few more times before turning and meeting Steve’s eye.

“Rumlow…”

“Babe.”

“Don’t fucking call me that! What’s going on?!”

Rumlow stood up and walked over to the bed, settling down next to Steve and putting a hand on his stomach. Steve shuddered which sent waves of aching pain through his burned out muscles. Steve knew he was hyperventilating, oxygen barely reaching his brain, but he could not calm down. Not now, not with what had happened.

“Shh. Calm down, babe. Don’t be scared. Everything’s fine.” He ran his hand along Steve’s ribs. “You don’t have to be scared. What do you want to know?”

“Was it him? Was it really him?”

“Yes.”

Some secluded corner of his brain told him that that answer was the best possible outcome. Part of him thought that maybe Rumlow would try and convince him he had not seen Bucky at all. Even now he could imagine torture after torture, Bucky, real or imagined, coming in at the end pushing him over the brink. It was not fair. Nothing about this was right. He could not breathe.

Steve turned from Rumlow, trying to bite back a scream. His hands shook, the cuff clattering against the headboard. The image of Bucky above him was burned into his retinas, he could not unsee it, he could not stop trembling, he could not catch his breath. Rumlow was quiet. He would not stop touching Steve, running his hands across his skin. Steve tried to squirm away but it was no use, there was nowhere to go.

“I don’t understand,” Steve said at last, trying in vain to ignore the hand on his body. “How—“

“You don’t have to understand.”

“What’s going on? I don’t know what you’re— what are you doing? What are you doing!?”

Rumlow took him by the chin and turned him to meet his eye. “Well, Steve, you were right. You should have caught him. You should have jumped after him. But you’re afraid of heights. You’re always so scared.”

Steve felt like he was falling. He could not breathe. He could not see. He was panting on the bed. Rumlow slid forward and held Steve’s head to his chest, running a hand through his hair. Steve wanted to pull away but could not bring himself to do so. He felt sick. The way Rumlow handled him was almost comforting, protective, and it made Steve want to die.

He wanted to let himself be comforted. That made him want to die even more.

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. You don’t have to understand.”

“Why is he here?” Rumlow was quiet above him. “Please, Rumlow. Why is he here? What’s going on?!”

“Because Hydra brought him here. And Hydra brought him back to you. I wanted him to be here for you. I know he’s important to you.”

Steve closed his eyes, desperately trying to process what Rumlow was saying. Nothing made sense, his head was spinning, stomach flipping inside of him. He was falling. He was falling into something. He felt panicked, raw, as if his very soul was trembling, not just his body. There was no solid ground beneath him.

“You win,” he finally rasped out. “You win.”

“What?”

He hated the words once they left his mouth. It was the worst kind of confession. Everything he had been fighting against was a moot point now. He was going to be sick.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Steve—“

“Whatever you want. Just let him go. I’ll do what you want.”

“That’s not what’s on the table, babe. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Brock, please. He doesn’t—“

“Oh, it’s ‘Brock’ now?”

“Please! Please let him go. I’ll do what you say. Whatever you want! I’ll do it. Please!”

Steve hated the tears running down his face, he hated the begging coming from his lips. Nothing made sense but this. He had to help Bucky. He had to. He stared up at Rumlow desperately trying to make him see what Steve was giving up. What Steve was gladly giving up, though it terrified him.

“Steve—“

“Fuck me! Torture me! I don’t fucking care! I’ll do it. I’ll say the words. Hail Hydra! Please! Hail Hydra! I’ll say it. I’ll fucking say it!”

“This isn’t a trade, babe.” Rumlow stroked his face.

“I’ll say it,” Steve sobbed. “I’ll say it! Please! Hail Hydra! Please! Please, Brock! I can’t— he can’t— I’ll do it. Whatever you want, whatever! I don’t care! I’ll do it! I’ll do it, I’ll say it! Please!”

“Steve, he’s here because I know it hurts you. But more importantly, he’s here so you know what’s waiting for you at the end of the path.”

“What? No, I—”

“Shh.”

“Hail Hydra,” Steve said, voice soft now; weak. “I’m saying it. I’m doing it. Hail Hydra, please Brock. _Please_. I’ll do it, I’ll do anything you want, I’ll do—“ Brock put a finger on his lips.

“I told you. You can’t have the good without the bad. You also can’t have the bad without the good. That’s order. When this is all over, he’s yours, just like you’re mine. The world is going to change, Steve.” Steve stared at him, horrified. Rumlow checked his phone. “But now it’s time for a little more bad.”

“What?” _What could possibly be worse than this?_ “Brock, wait. Please, you can’t—“

Steve still had a thousand of questions, all revolving around Bucky _because Bucky was alive!_ Steve could not even breathe. But Rumlow stepped off from the bed and found the case of the syringes. He shut his mouth, watching silently as Rumlow sat back down on the bed. He steeled himself. Rumlow took a syringe and flicked it with his nail before bringing it to Steve’s arm. Steve tried to pull away, but with the cuffs there was nowhere to go. The needle poked through his skin. He barely felt it. He stared as the liquid inside was pumped into his veins, slowly moving down the glass tube.Then Rumlow grabbed a second syringe, chuckling when he saw Steve frown. Steve blinked at him, his vision going hazy, but not the same way it did with the sedative. As the second syringe was slowly emptied into him, Steve’s heart started pounding.

“That was the adrenaline and cortisol mix. The first one was the hallucinogenic.”

“What?”

Steve’s heart was racing, his vision blurring and shifting in and out of focus, a sheen of sweat broke out on his skin. 

“You’re always scared, Steve. You’re scared of so much. The sooner you admit that, the better off you’ll be. That’s what this is about. At least part of it. Letting go of your fear. Give it up. Give it to Hydra. This will help you. You don’t have to be brave right now, okay?”

“What’s— what’s happ—”

Rumlow took his face in his hands and met his eye. It was not Rumlow looking back. There was something wrong with his face. His eyes were sinking into his skull. Steve recoiled from him as best he could, staring in horror.

“Steve, babe. You’re about to have a really bad time.”

* * *

_“So heights, what else?”_

_Steve frowned as he sipped at his coffee. It was late. No, it was early. They had been on mission for thirty-six hours and were finally heading back to D.C. on the jet with no spare food. He was inhaling the coffee. The shitty powdered creamer was the only calories he was getting. He was pretty sure he would be seeing double from hunger before they landed._

_“What else what?” he asked testily._

_“What else are you scared of?”_

_“I’m scared of starving to death because some jerk forgot to pack the protein bars.”_

_“Steve, come on babe—”_

_“Shit, Rumlow!” Steve’s eyes darted around the cabin, but everyone is asleep. “Don’t call me that on the field. You know better.”_

_“We’re not on the field, we’re in the jet.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“Scared of being outed, apparently.”_

_“I’m not scared of being outed!” he hissed._

_“What are you scared of?”_

_“Murdering the guy I sleep with. Who else is going to do that thing with their tongue?”_

_“Come on, I’m trying to have a conversation. Quit being bitchy.”_

_“I’m not bitchy, I’m hungry.” He sighed, taking another swig of his coffee. “Fuck…”_

_Brock moved a few inches closer, “It’s fine, babe.” His leg was warm against Steve’s. “Let’s just talk. Just distracting you. What are you scared of?”_

_“Sure as fuck didn’t like the way the mission went. It was too close.”_

_“I’m talking about real fears. The irrational stuff. Stuff that keeps you up at night.”_

_Steve thought about it for a moment. “Lots of stuff, I guess,” he finally said softly. “Ice water. Being trapped, maybe, unable to move. It isn’t the things, it’s the fear itself, you know? I don’t like the feeling of panic, terror when things go bad. That stomach drop feeling, that dread? You know?”_

_“You’re afraid of being afraid.”_

_“When you put it like that I sound fucking pathetic.”_

_“You’re not pathetic, babe.”_

_“Whatever, Rumlow.”_

_“I told you to call me Brock.” Steve looked away, crossing his arms in front of him, staring at the floor of the jet. Everyone was sleeping, they had been quiet, their conversation barely above a whisper. Brock took out his phone and started typing out a message._

_“What’re you doing?” Steve asked after a moment._

_“Messaging Fury. Team’s too beat to go debrief on arrival. There’s nothing urgent so I’m requesting we be allowed to go home and sleep this off before coming in tomorrow in the morning.” A thrum of relief went through Steve. “Let’s just go straight back to my place. I’ll order some pizza.”_

_Steve’s stomach rumbled so loudly that Jameson blinked up at him for a moment from the other side of the jet before closing his eyes and falling back to sleep._

_“I’ll order a lot of pizza,” Rumlow amended._

_“And zucchini fries?”_

_“And some zucchini fries, you got it. Now I just gotta figure out what I’m going to eat.”_

_Steve snorted and shot Rumlow a small smile. “That sounds perfect.”_

_“Yeah?” Steve nodded over at him and he grinned. “Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve was screaming again. He forced himself to stop but each moment of silence were penetrated by another new horror. Wave after wave of things flashed in front of his eyes, sounds buzzed and hissed in his ear, even his sense of smell was playing with him, blood and ash and sulphur in his nose. His heart was pounding so hard, so fast he was certain it would give out. This would be what killed him.

There were bugs crawling on his skin. He knew they were not there, but he watched them as the climbed up to his face and neck, trying to get into his mouth, into his eyes. He could hear their bodies clicking, the plates of their shells fizzling in his ears.

There was something on the ceiling. It was dark, shadowy and coming closer. Steve could not pull his gaze from it as it lurched down, shapeless and void. Steve swallowed as it floated above the bed, above him. He could not turn away, but he could not look at it directly. It was staring at him. It was waiting for him to open his mouth, he knew it. It was not real but he knew if he opened his mouth it would find its way into his body and eat him from the inside.

There were hands on his skin. There were hands everywhere, touching him _everywhere._ Steve could not get away, he pulled and pulled on the cuffs but the hands were there. On his face, circling his neck, digging into the flesh between his ribs, the joint where his thigh met his body, between the cheeks of his rear, his armpits, the webbing of his fingers and toes, the back of his knees. He tried not to scream, because he knew there would be fingers digging into his mouth, stroking his tongue, his teeth. The hands were pulling him, shoving him around the bed, bruising his flesh.

He was falling. He was falling from so high. There was no parachute, there was no shield. He could not stop falling.

The bed shook. Something was underneath. Long and wet; a tentacle. A real hydra coming out from the ocean. It wrapped a long appendage around Steve’s body, squeezing all the air out of him. Tighter and tighter and tighter, smelling of salt water, of the frozen ocean he crashed the plane in, and now he could see the creature pulling him back into the cockpit of the Valkyrie, back into the frigid ice waters.

* * *

“ _Japan, hands down, has some of the weirdest porn.”_

_“What? Christ Brock, don’t be crass,” Steve replied, navigating the key into the locked door and heaving Brock into the tiny studio apartment. “Add that to the list.”_

_“List?”_

_“Thing’s I’m scared of; you talking about pornography in public places.”_

_“Sorry, I think I had one too many shots.”_

_“Ya think? You were matching Rollins. That man has a wooden leg, I swear to god.”_

_Brock pressed his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. “I’d kill to see you trussed up like that though.”_

_“Trussed up like what?”_

_His hand moved under Steve’s shirt, and Steve bit back a moan as Brock started pinching his nipple as they stumbled through the apartment. He was practically pasted onto Steve, body hot and sharp and solid against him._

_“The Japanese porn. They do shit with ropes like you wouldn’t believe. You’d look like a fucking miracle. And there’s shokusu goukan…”_

_“God bless you.”_

_“It’s Japanese.”_

_“Do you speak Japanese?”_

_“I speak a lot of languages, babe.”_

_“What’s it mean? Shoku…?”_

_“‘Tentacle rape.’”_

_“What?! Jesus Christ, Brock—“ Brock, drunk though he was, expertly threw him off balance in his surprise and he landed on his back on the bed with a very inebriated Brock suddenly on top of him, pushing his arms up above his head, grip firm. He was grinding his hips against Steve’s, pushing his legs apart with his knees; Steve could not help but groan around his laugh. “You’re drunk, old man.”_

_“Imagine it, babe. Thick tentacles holding you down, stronger than you are.”_

_Steve blinked up at him as Brock moved his hands over Steve’s body, pushing his wrists into the mattress. Steve leered at him a bit, feeling a low pool of arousal rise in his core. He blamed it mostly on being twenty-six more than what Brock was actually saying._

_“Around your arms, your legs, holding you up, like you weighed nothing. Like the way you used to be. You told me you liked being small sometimes.” Steve’s breath hitched. “Suckers sticking to your skin.” Brock latched his mouth onto Steve’s neck and started sucking a fierce bruise into the flesh and Steve moaned out loud. “They’d be everywhere, just taking you apart. They pull off your clothes, they’re sticky, wet…”_

_Steve frowned up at him for a moment before he saw Brock grinning, pupils wide and smiled back. He was just drunk, he was ridiculous. Steve laughed, rolling his eyes. “Oh, is that how you want me, Agent Rumlow?”_

_“That’s how I want you. Gorgeous, perfect.”_

_Steve hummed, letting Brock’s hands move over his body, under his clothes._

_“And the tentacles go everywhere, babe. I’ll show you,” he slurred. His hands were all over Steve, possessive, wandering. Steve almost laughed again until Brock stuck two fingers in his mouth. “Here, filling your mouth, pushing down your throat.” Steve could taste the salt from the bar-nuts from earlier that night. He almost whimpered when the fingers were gone, he did not mind sucking on them. Brock was clearly turned on by this, and Steve was happy to help out. “And here.” Brock’s hands cupped Steve’s cock, growing half-hard under his pants. “And babe, here. Right here.” His hand reached into Steve’s pants, roughly pressing into his hole, barely wet with Steve’s spit. Steve hissed at the feel of it, heart pounding, skin flushing hotter. “So big, so thick. Fucking you until you pass out.”_

_“I think—“ he groaned as Brock’s fingers played with his hole. “I think I’d just as soon have you.”_

_“I’ll find something with tentacles just for you babe,” Brock said into Steve’s skin. “Fuck you real good.”_

_“Maybe just show me the porn some time, yeah?”_

_“No. I bet there’s something I can get to fuck you later.”_

_“Get the lube, I bet you can fuck me real good now,” Steve replied. Brock laughed into his skin and fumbled around in the nightstand for the lube._

_“Good to—“ he stopped, moaning as Steve reached over and found Brock’s cock in his pants. If they fucked a little harder that night, or Brock was a little more handsy, a little more into biting marks down Steve’s skin, more into keeping Steve restrained as best he could with the alcohol coursing through him Steve did not mention it. It was hot, it was feral. And the image of a tentacled creature fucking into him, Brock’s dirty whispers, while weird as hell, made him come just a little harder than usual._

* * *

“It’s not real,” he whimpered. “It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.”

The tentacles slithered over his naked body in the cockpit. He was trapped, he was freezing and the tentacles were everywhere. They were worse than the hands. He gasped as there was one in his mouth, one on his cock, one pushing its way inside of him, just like Brock had said.

“It’s not real, it’s not real, please.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, hips jerking up on the bed, arms shaking in the cuffs.

“God help me, please, god help me…”

He was sure if he opened his eyes, there would be deep, red welts all over his skin from the tentacles, sucking into his flesh, squeezing him tight, pulling him by the limbs in all directions, fucking him raw. He moaned loudly into the apartment as the hot flesh jerked on his cock. It was not real, it was not there, but Steve could feel it. He was trembling. He came with a quiet whimper, feeling the hot cum hit his skin before crashing down onto the bed, left alone for a brief, perfect minute.

* * *

_“You up for just a movie night? Don’t think I can make it out on the town. I’m wiped out.” Brock asked as they sat in the SHIELD cafeteria, waiting to be called in for their mission report._

_“As long as we don’t watch any zombie movies,” Steve replied around his third bagel.“What have you got against zombie movies?”_

_“I watched a bunch with Nat one weekend as part of a ‘welcome to the future thing.’ We’d been going through different genres each weekend. Everything else was fine, but the zombie movies scared the bejesus outta me.”_

_“Really?” Steve nodded. “Why?”_

_“I don’t know. Just everything. Coming back from the dead mighta struck a chord, but I’m not sure. I just know too many people who died, maybe.”_

_“We all know people who died. Widow more than most of us.”_

_“Maybe I’m just old fashioned then. It freaked me out. The way they walked, the gore, the rotting flesh.” He shuddered. “I don’t know. It fucked with me. It’s been months and that shit still creeps into my nightmares.”_

_“I’ve been a bad influence. You never used to swear this much.”_

_“No, I never used to be so well spoken. You should’a heard the way Buck and I used to talk to each other. Brooklyn docks will teach you some vocabulary, Rumlow.”_

_Brock laughed. “Good to know. No zombie movies. Can I add that to the list?”_

_“List?”_

_“The list of things you’re scared of.”_

_Steve took another bite of the bagel. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” he said when he finished chewing. “I’m not above admitting I’m scared of zombies.”_

* * *

There was something was wrong. He did not want to open his eyes. He could not stop shaking. Finally Steve turned to the side and looked at what was there. He recoiled with a loud cry at what he saw.

On the bed sat Bucky.

Only it was not Bucky. He was dead. There was blood, his flesh was mottled and rotting; Steve blinked over and over, trying to make the vision go away. He could see his skull through his skin. The corpse looked at him and turned and crawled over the bed to him and reached for Steve with a gnarled, bleeding stump where his hand should have been. Steve screamed and pulled at the cuffs trying to get away, but of course he couldn’t.

“No! NO!”

The corpse crawled over Steve and pressed against his body.

“Rumlow, help me!” Steve cried out at last. This was the one horror he could not outlast. “Please, undo the cuffs! Please!”

The corpse’s mouth was breathing into Steve’s. He smelled like blood.

“Brock! Brock, please!”

Steve twisted his face away, sobbing as the corpse ran his hand, his stump down Steve’s body; scraped his teeth, loose in his gums, down Steve’s neck. It was Bucky, and he was dead and it was Steve’ fault. He pulled on the cuffs as hard as he could, feeling the bones in his wrists straining against them. Bucky, the corpse, licked up Steve’s face, trailing after his tears.

“Brock, undo the cuffs! God, please! God help me! Help me!”

“Babe, it’s okay,” Brock’s voice said from another world. “It’s not real. There’s nothing there. You don’t have to be brave.”

“Please! Please just undo the cuffs! Let me off the bed! He’s on the bed, he’s on the bed! Please!”

“Babe, it isn’t real.”

“God help me, god help me, god help me—“

Bucky’s corpse ran his hands up and down Steve’s arms, through Steve’s hair. Steve could taste blood in his mouth from the tearing in his throat from screaming. He could not pull his eyes away from the corpse on top of him. It was Bucky. He should have jumped after him.

“God help me— I’m sorry— I’m sorry! God help me! Please!”

He felt hands on his ankles, then his wrists, and then he was free. He tumbled out of the bed, tangling in the sheets, falling to the floor with a loud crash. His head hit the hard wood beneath him but he did not care as he scrambled across the floor, away from the bed, from the corpse. He pulled himself into the corner by the dresser, pressing into the walls, blinking away blood that started running down his face.

Bucky was crawling across the floor, getting closer and closer to him, eyes dead and white and bleeding, skin sallow, melting. Steve pressed further back, but there was nowhere to go. He was sobbing, screaming at the corpse in front of him as it came towards him.“No! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please! Please!”

“It isn’t real, babe.”

“He’s there. He’s there. He’s right there. Please, please, god help me!”

“Babe—“

“Hail Hydra! Make it stop! Please, make it stop! Hail Hydra! I’ll say it, I’ll say it! Please!”

The corpse was in front of him, Steve could smell his ice cold, rotting skin. He was whimpering, tears running down his face, feet sliding on the floor to press himself further into the corner. He could not get away. He put his hands over his head, pressed his face into his knees and sobbed, terrified, heart pounding, breath hitching. He was going to die. He knew he was going to die.

He squeezed his eyes shut, “It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.” The hands were back on his skin. “God help me, it’s not real. Please, please. It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.” He was rocking back and forth, shoulders hitting the wall behind him; the thump of his back hitting the plaster was the only thing he knew was real, besides the quiver of his aching body and the breaths that did not make it to his lungs. 

“It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real.”

The corpse grunted in front of him, letting out shuddering, rasping breaths against Steve’s skins. Steve steeled himself and finally opened his eyes to look. His heart stopped. He was certain he was going to die. The corpse lunged against him pinned Steve into the wall. Steve was screaming, sobbing, as Bucky, _the corpse_ , Bucky, _the corpse_ , Bucky, _the corpse_ grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head around, smashing it against the wall. Steve tried to push him off, but his hands sank into the flesh with a wet, sick sound and he screamed again. Then all he could see was the stump, bloody and oozing in front of him.

The corpse started speaking to him in Russian. Steve shook his head; he did not understand, _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._

The corpse pinched at Steve’s jaw and forced him to open his mouth. He then violently shoved the end of the stump inside. Steve screamed around the rotten flesh, unable to pull back. Bucky then slammed his hand up against Steve’s chin.

He bit into the flesh.

He could feel the rot, the blood, the puss running down his face from his lips as Bucky shoved his mouth closed and held it shut. Steve screamed behind closed lips, desperate to spit it out, violently thrashing, desperate to get away. Bucky’s hand was in front of his mouth, pinching his nose shut, holding his head still as he shook and screamed, feet scrambling against the floor, unable to breathe, unable to think, unable to get away. His heart was pounding.

He curled in on himself, covering his face, burying his head in his knees once more, sobbing. He saw nothing else as the world went black around him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore Warning: Steve is given an hallucinogenic and 'sees' various things. The last thing he sees is Bucky as a corpse/zombie attacking him. The zombie forces Steve to bite down on Bucky's arm and eat it.
> 
>  
> 
> Which is pretty fucking gross. Sorry. There was something deep in my head about consuming, and Steve's guilt over surviving as an act of aggression against Bucky because Steve is so fucked up, but I did not have the chutzpah to write it. Also, isn't Brock a meanie? What a poop.
> 
> Anyway. I'm hoping to keep churning out chapters because I want to get back to smut, and chapters 13 and 14 are WAY FUN HTP SMUT! But plot's getting in the way. And don't worry, Bucky will be back soon, I promise. And not in zombie form either.


	10. Chapter 10

Steve would not open his eyes. He stayed in the corner, curled in a ball, head tucked in his knees. The only thing connecting him to the world was the long length of chain attached to his ankle with the cuff. If it had been gone he might have floated away entirely. He wanted to. He could not stop seeing the corpse of Bucky over him, feeling the rotting flesh run across his body, tasting the pus in his mouth. He could not stop shaking. His body was not meant to continue like this, serum or no. The trembling, the shaking was what was going to kill him, he thought absentmindedly. Actually, probably the Tentacle would kill him, he realized, but the shaking was certainly not helping; leaving him vulnerable and exhausted and sick.

* * *

_“This is it. It’s not much though.” Rumlow said opening the door to his apartment. Steve stepped in and looked around the small apartment. “I’d give you the grand tour, but this is it.”_

_Steve took in the small kitchen, the worn leather sofa and reclining chair, the wood floors with mismatched carpets, the slow spinning fan, the comfortable looking bed. It was small. There was no doubt about that. But Steve felt more at home than he ever had during his months at his own apartment. It felt like something from before._

_He turned and gave Rumlow a smile. “I love it.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

The door opened and the sound of steps was in his ears. He heard Rumlow murmuring but whoever was with him did not respond. More steps, the kitchen faucet being turned on and off, more steps, a voice right above him. He flinched and pushed himself even further back into the corner.

“Have some water, babe.”

Rumlow knelt down in front of Steve, his knees brushing against Steve’s legs, and Steve flinched again. Would this set it off? Would the hands come back?

“Come on, Steve. You’ve got a visitor.”

The shadow on the ceiling? The tentacles under the bed? The corpse?

Rumlow’s hands were on his back, his shoulders, running comforting circles over his skin. Steve hated how his body responded to the touch, slowly easing into the hands, the trembling slowly easing away, but never quite leaving. It was like something foreign quivering under his skin. Rumlow finally pulled Steve’s hands away from his head and cupped Steve’s face, pulling his head up from between his knees. Steve’s eyes were still shut, he turned away as best he could with Rumlow holding his head. Even now he felt too exposed.

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. It’s over. You can open your eyes.”

Steve’s head shook without him even thinking about it. Rumlow’s fingers ran gently over his skin, his thumbs brushing over his cheeks, his lips, his eyelids, ghosting over the healed cut on his forehead from where he fell off the bed. The touch slowly brought him back down to earth, even though that was the last place he wanted to be.

A cup was put against his lips, and Rumlow titled it up into Steve’s mouth. Steve let himself swallow a sip of the water before turning away. He tried to pull his head from Rumlow’s hand, but there was nowhere to go.

“Come on, Steve. Open your eyes. We’re gonna take a little break, I think.” Steve tensed. “Yeah, babe. We’re gonna take a little time and calm down, have a little fun, get some food, crack open another syringe of the benzo.”

“W-what do you want f-from me?” Steve finally asked. He had started shaking again. His voice was so soft he did not even recognize it.

“I want you to open your eyes. That’s not so hard, is it?” Rumlow pulled Steve’s hand away from his knees and moved it down to his side, wrapping Steve’s fingers around the cup. “Here’s the water. Take all the time you need.”

Rumlow stepped away. Part of Steve — the foolish, fighting part of him — thought to throw the cup back at him, to scream, to rush at Rumlow and rip his body apart with his bare hands.

“Why did you do th-that? The-the hallucinogenic?” he asked. “What’s the point? Wh-what’s the fucking point?”

“Open your eyes, Steve.”

* * *

_“Okay, open your eyes.”_

_Steve opened his eyes. He was in the apartment. He looked around. “What am I looking at?”_

_“I cleaned, jackass.”_

_“Oh!” Steve realized now that there was not so much clutter, the clothes were in the hamper. Even the bed was made, but Steve hoped it wouldn’t stay that way for long. “It looks nice.”_

_“I’m kidding, look.” He pushed Steve’s head towards the coffee table. There was a little box, wrapped in Captain America themed paper._

_“Birthday’s not until tomorrow, Brock,” Steve said with a sigh._

_“Yeah, but today’s special.”_

_“What’s special about it?”_

_“It’s our eight month, one week and four day anniversary.”_

_Steve snorted. “Sounds special, alright.”_

_“We were a little busy during the eight month anniversary, sue me.” Steve could only nod at that; they had been undercover for a week inColumbia helping the DEA with a drug cartel. It had been awful._

_“What is it?” Steve asked sitting down on the couch, trying not to lean into Brock’s hand on his neck too much. He did not want to seem as desperate for the touch as he felt. Even the idea of having a gift now was leaving him reeling a bit._

_“Open it.”_

_Steve reached over and grabbed the small box. For a brief moment he thought it might have been a jewelry box, and a thrill of panic went through him as he carefully pulled the paper off, trying to keep it from ripping. He and Brock weren’t like that. Or rahter that was not how Steve had been interpreting things. A fear from his past cropped up, from the 30’s when he had still been small. Or was it misplaced pride? Even now he could hear the men in the alleys calling him a fairy, a kept man. Even now he felt the horrible thought in the back of his mind that he should be ‘prettier’ for Brock; make this worth Brock’s while. He did not want that at all, even now that he was unquestionably more masculine than he had been before. Some insecurities never leave. He still could not help but flush in shame when Brock admired him. But maybe he should do that for Brock. He could_ bethat _for him. Steve bit his lip and opened the box._

_It was a key._

_“You can come here whenever you want, even if I’m not around,” Brock said, cupping Steve’s neck, pressing his lips to Steve’s temple. “I know you don’t like your place.”_

_Steve could not even speak. He stared at the key in his hand. A key to the apartment. Something rattled inside of him, something hard and frozen that had been shaken loose from his ribs._

_“Steve?” Brock asked. “Is it okay? I thought you would li—”_

_“It’s perfect,” Steve whispered._

_Brock chuckled and brought Steve’s head around to kiss him. “Good to know.”_

* * *

He gripped the cup tightly and finally forced himself to open his eyes.

There was Rumlow, sitting on the bed, facing him. Next to him was Bucky. Steve flinched, expecting to see his flesh melting off his face like it had been before; to see the metal arm as a rotting, oozing stump. Would they make him eat it again? But instead he was fine. He was wearing a soft looking shirt and loose sparring pants, looking more comfortable than Steve certainly felt. He studied Steve carefully, but there was no look of recognition in his eye. He was not… _there._ It was hard to look at but Steve could not pull his eyes away, save to dart to the door for a flash before back to Rumlow and Bucky. Steve wagered that even if he could not pull apart the cuffs, he’d bet that metal arm of Bucky’s might be able to do the trick. He just had to steady his breath, reach over and pull Bucky by the hand and run, just run forever.

And that arm. Steve gaped at it. The first word that came to mind was _beautiful_ but only because it was Bucky’s arm. _Terrible_ was another word. Bucky had lost his arm doing something, and Steve was not there. Steve had crashed a plane into the ocean instead of looking for Bucky. Instead of saving him. He could barely breathe.

Steve slowly brought himself up to standing, bracing himself against the wall. The glass was still in his hand. Looking at it now Steve thought he could break it, he could use the shards and slice into Rumlow’s chest, pull out his still-beating heart.

“You want to kill me right now, don’t you?” Rumlow asked with a smile. Steve blinked. Had it been that obvious? Rumlow chuckled. “You don’t look at a man like that if you want to kiss him. Now our soldier here…” he smiled. It almost looked genuine, much to Steve’s confusion. “I’m happy you get to have him back, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Because really, what else could he say? _To that._ ‘Having him back’ was as foreign a concept as, well, Hydra still being active. He could not wrap his head around either of them, but there was evidence here that was irrefutable. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run.

He wanted to go back to the way things were before. Even if that meant Bucky being really dead, it had been easier, better before. He thought the world could not get more cruel after he had woken up in New York after crashing the plane. He was so wrong, and that knowledge left him shaking, left him sick, left him lost.

“You won’t kill me.”

Steve’s hand clenched the glass. He did not even need to slam it against the wall; he could shatter it right here, right now, on Rumlow’s skull. “Try me.”

Rumlow smirked, and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “Soldier. Take your knife. Slice open your throat.”

Bucky grabbed a knife that was lying on the bed and brought it to his neck. There was a flash in Bucky’s face that Steve had not seen since he had fallen from the train. Terror. But as quickly as it was there, it was gone. He was ready to die.

“NO!” Steve screamed dropping the glass. He was about to run to Bucky, pull the knife away when Rumlow held up a hand.

“Hold, Soldier.”

Bucky held the knife at his throat, waiting for his next order. He was not focusing on anything. He stared blankly ahead; he did not even see Steve. Steve was frozen staring at him.

“Rumlow…”

“You’re not going to kill me, Steve. I know you want to. I know what you’re feeling now.”

“Bucky, put the knife down.”

“He’ll put it down when I tell him to.” Rumlow stood up and walked a few steps closer to Steve. “Soldier, if he tries to hurt me, you stop him, then you slit your wrist. Understand?”

Bucky nodded.

“Brock! Stop this! Bucky, don’t listen to him—“

“You don’t get it, do you? He can’t even hear you, babe.”

“Bucky…” Steve stared at the man as he sat on the bed. Rumlow was right. No reaction. “Bucky, please.”

“Babe—“

“What did you do? What did you do to him?”

“Nothing, babe. He’s part of Hydra now, that’s all. Just like you’ll be soon. You’ll be together.”

“Rumlow—“

“Soldier. Go to Steve,” Rumlow said.

Bucky stood and walked until he was standing right in front of Steve. Steve could smell his breath. Looking at him now Steve could see how different he had become. His face was gaunt, and his eyes held none of their former light. He was broader in the chest than he ever had been during the war. And the arm. The metal arm hung from his left shoulder, a heavy weight, a gorgeous machine. Steve could hear the plates and hydraulics whirring from within the chrome. He was perhaps an inch or two shorter than Steve, but standing naked, shaking in front of him, Steve knew that Bucky could kill him easily right now.

Part of him wanted him to.

“Suck him off.”

Steve lurched away with nowhere to go. “No! Don’t!” he cried out but Bucky had fallen to his knees and pinned Steve’s hips to the wall and took him into his mouth so quickly Steve was left reeling. The knife was still in his fist, Bucky’s knuckles pressing against Steve’s naked hip, flesh hand gripping him painfully hard. “Stop! Bucky no!” But Steve gasped and writhed, desperate to get away as Bucky started to lick up and down his cock, swallowing him down, occasionally stroking him with his hands.

“You can make him stop.” Rumlow chucked, got off the bed andleaned down to Bucky’s bobbing head. “Soldier, let him come when he says the words.”

“STOP IT!” Steve screamed.

“Those aren’t the words I want to hear, babe.” Rumlow stood and stroked Steve’s face, pushing his head down to look at Bucky. “Isn’t he gorgeous, Steve? This is just a taste. He’s going to be yours when this is done.”

Steve stared in horror at Bucky as he brushed his hair from his face and eagerly sucked on Steve’s cock. his lips were plush and red around Steve, and his eyelashes were dark and full against his pale cheeks. Steve had wanted this for so long, but not like this, _not like this._

“Come on, Stevie. Relax. This is a break.” Rumlow whispered into Steve’s ear. “Doesn’t it feel good? God, you look amazing together.”

Steve grunted as Bucky’s tongue swirled around the head of his cock, clenching his fists and pushing back as far into the wall as he could. He was trying not to let his body take over, to rock his hips into Bucky’s mouth.

“It’s okay to like this. He’s yours, Steve. His mouth is yours. You’ve wanted him for so long.”

_Not like this._

Rumlow ran his hand over Steve’s chest, brushing against his nipples, reaching up and stroking the skin on his neck, the small bruise still lingering from the Leech. Steve shuddered into the touch.

“You’re close, I can smell it on you. He’s good with his mouth isn’t he? It’s time, Steve. He’ll do this until his jaw falls off.”

Steve shook his head. “N-no… Rumlow, please.”

“You have to stop this, because he sure as hell won’t.” Rumlow’s lips where on his neck, his teeth on his skin. “Let go, say the words, then you can come. You’ll feel better. I’ll even let you repay him the favor, you’re always so sweet like that.”

“W-what?”

“Yes or no, Steve; does it feel good? The way he’s got his mouth on you?”

“Ruml—“

“Yes or no?” Rumlow bit into his neck, sending waves of pain, of sensation down his body.

“Y-yes…”

“And you’re going to come soon, right? Because it feels good?” _Because you’re still drugged, Steve. That’s all this is. That’s all this is. Please god, let that be all this is…_

“Yes…” It felt so good.

“And he looks so good on you like this, Steve. You have no idea. You’re gorgeous together.” Steve did not know how to respond to that. He hated himself, but he glanced down at Bucky again. “He looks like he’s enjoying himself too. Soldier, look at him.”

Bucky peered up at him through his long eyelashes and the sight of it sent a jolt of electricity through Steve. Bucky had reached down, pressing the heel of his hand over the bulge in his pants. Their eyes met and Steve was falling. His hand slowly reached for Bucky and ran through his too long hair. Rumlow hummed in Steve’s ear before kissing his jaw once more, Bucky moaned around his cock.

“Good boy. Come on, Steve. You don’t want to tire him out.”

“I can’t—“

“You keep saying that, but you’ve done it plenty of times already. You’re close. Say the words, and you can come in his mouth. And he’ll swallow it down like he was made for it.”

“D-don’t—“

“Hydra brought him back to you, don’t you see?” Steve shook his head but could not take his eyes off of Bucky. “He’s yours, babe. You’ve been waiting long enough. Say the words.”

Bucky’s eyes were locked on his. They were bluer than Steve remembered, than Steve let himself remember. He was so tired.

“ _Hail Hydra…”_ he whispered.

Bucky immediately started sucking harder and Steve groaned a few moments later as he came. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling tears fall. It felt amazing, and Bucky was there, and he had never felt worse in his entire life. When it was finished, Bucky pulled away, still kneeling, as Steve sank down to the floor. He was crying again, and god, he hated that.

He sat on the floor sobbing as Bucky knelt in front of him glancing between him and Rumlow, waiting for his next order. Steve could barely look at him.

“Not even going to say thank you?” Rumlow asked. “Kiss him, Steve. Let him know he did a good job.”

“What?” Steve stared up at Rumlow. “Rumlow, stop this, please.”

“Soldier, slit your wrist.”

“NO! Stop!” Steve scrambled in front of Bucky and grabbed him by the arms, pushing at him desperately to keep him from following through with the order. “Don’t! Don’t please! Rumlow please!”

“Hold.”

Bucky went still, the knife hovering over his skin. Steve frantically tried to pry it loose, but the metal hand was locked on the knife handle. The only acknowledgement Steve received was Bucky’s eyebrow’s raising at Steve’s strength, like he had not been expecting to have to tighten his grip on the knife. It did not matter, Steve could still not pull it out from his hand.

“Steve, I’m going to make him slit his wrist and have his last act on this earth be pressing your face into the cut. Did you hear that, Soldier? Those are your orders. Wait one minute and if Steve isn’t sucking you off, do it.”

Bucky nodded up at Rumlow. Steve stared in horror, glancing back and forth between the two men. His hands were shaking, he still tried to pull the knife from Bucky’s steel grip. 

“No! Please, Bucky, don’t! God damn it! Brock, please!”

“Steve, time’s slipping away. You really going to let him slit his wrist because you don’t want to give him a blowjob?”

“Rumlow, this isn’t—“

“How much time is left, Soldier?”

“Forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight, thirty-seven—“

Steve surged forward and pressed his lips to Bucky’s, stopping his counting for a painful moment, before moving down and to undo Bucky’s pants, blinking through the tears.

His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the fastenings. A surge of panic went through him. He could not undo them. His hands were shaking uncontrollably and the knot was tight. A high whine sounded from behind his clenched teeth as he struggled. His hands were useless with fear. He could not even rip the pants open.

“I can’t open them! Please! Brock!”

“Clock’s ticking, babe.”

“Please! I can’t—“

In a flash of shining metal, the knife swung down and ripped open the tight string holding the pants together. Steve stared at Bucky for a moment. The knife was already back pressed against the skin of his wrist. Their eyes met and Steve saw it again. The flash of terror. “Six, five, four—“

Steve practically fell onto Bucky’s cock, taking it in his mouth and swallowing down. Bucky grunted and his hips thrust up, making Steve gag on him. He coughed and sputtered but did not dare pull himself away and breathe. His whole body was wracked with sobs as he tried to do this right.

He flinched violently, almost biting down when he felt a cold, metal hand on his head, pulling him off.

“It’s alright,” Bucky said. The only thing keeping Steve from sobbing all over again — it sounded like Bucky, it _was_ Bucky — was the shock. He stared up at the other man for a moment before nodding and going back down. It was a little easier this time, he calmed down but just barely, tears still running down his face. He did something right with his tongue because Bucky moaned and Steve could feel it through his whole body, and he remembered that intimately. Bucky’s hand was on the back of his head, merely resting, not pushing him down the way Rumlow would sometimes, the way Steve loved it when Rumlow did it sometimes.

In a few moments, Bucky’s body went tight beneath Steve, familiar and foreign all at once; his hips jerked up on their own and he came with a groan in Steve’s mouth.

Steve sat back up very quickly, pushing himself away, uncertain what to do next, wiping his mouth, his eyes, when Rumlow grabbed him by the hair, stroking his own cock and came on Steve’s face. Steve barely had time to close his eyes before the hot semen hit his skin. 

* * *

_“Do you really like that? Coming on my face?”_

_“Yeah, it’s kinda hot, that’s all.”_

_“It’s kinda degrading, Brock.”_

_“Sorry. Good to know.”_

_“It’s fine. Don’t do it at my place though. I’m pretty sure SHIELD has my apartment bugged.”_

_“That is also good to know,” Brock said with a laugh._

_He reached down and wiped away a small drop of cum from Steve’s cheek with his thumb. Steve reached for his wrist and took the thumb into his mouth, sucking it. Brock grinned down at him, surprised, and Steve blushed and looked away._

_“You’re so sweet.”_

_“Was that okay?”_

_“It was perfect.”_

_“I just— ugh—“ he rolled his eyes. “It’s stupid.”_

_“Tell me.”_

_“I want to be good for you. I’m not— I don’t— I wouldn’t let just anyone come on my face, okay? I’m not good at this, but—“_

_Brock leaned down and pressed their lips together. “Good to know,” he whispered. “That’s so good to know, babe.”_

* * *

“Oh, don’t look so offended,” Brock hummed at Steve’s glare. “Couldn’t help myself, babe. You two look gorgeous together. You did so good, babe.”

Rumlow let go of Steve and crouched down next to him.

“Now, do you know why we did that?” Steve started to wipe away the cum from his face when Rumlow grabbed his wrist and stopped him. Steve stared at the floor in front of him as Rumlow came close to his face. “Your boy there? He understands the hierarchy. He understands order. He follows commands because he knows things will be good if he does and bad if he doesn’t.”

“You told him to kill himself,” Steve said shakily. “You told—“

“I told him to slit his wrist. Who said it’d kill him? He’s been around as long as you and not sleeping in the ocean either. It’d take a whole lot to kill him.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before turning away looking back at the floor. Rumlow knelt down and undid the last cuff on his ankle that had connected him to the bed. His eyes immediately darted between the door, and Bucky kneeling next to him. What would happen if he just grabbed Bucky’s hand and ran? Just ran and never looked back?

Rumlow wiped a glob of cum off of Steve’s cheek with his thumb, and held it in front of Steve’s mouth. Steve balked, recoiling back. Rumlow gave a small shrug, murmured something in Russian and moved his hand towards Bucky who leaned forward, opening his mouth—

“Don’t, wait—“

Steve grabbed Rumlow’s wrist and pulled his hand back. He squeezed his eyes shut and licked the other man’s thumb, tasting the familiar, bitter taste of Rumlow on his tongue. Finishing as quickly as he could.

“Good,” Rumlow murmured, cupping his face when he was done. “You’re getting it.”

“Go to hell,” Steve whispered.

“We had to do this so you would know what happens if you don’t follow orders. I’m going to hurt you, but I’m also willing to hurt him, to use him; what’s more is he’ll let me. I don’t want to do either of those things. I can put you back in the cuffs, but I think we’ve moved beyond that now. The Soldier there is a different kind of cuff, but you’ll learn. You’ll be as good as he is. And when you’re good, you can have him. It’ll be better.”

Rumlow stood up and ran his hand through Steve’s hair, and then Bucky’s with a chuckle. Steve was ready to rip his hand off for touching Bucky. Steve tried to meet Bucky’s eye, but Bucky was blind to him. He slid over and with a shaking hand reached towards Bucky’s face. The man did not move. Steve was ready to scream.

“Bucky?” he whispered. “Bucky, come on. It’s me. It’s Steve.”

“He doesn’t remember you, babe,” Rumlow called out from the kitchen. “He doesn’t remember much at all.”

“What did you do to him?”

“I didn’t do anything, he’s been like this for years.” _Years?_ Steve blanched in horror. How long had it been since Bucky fell from the train? Had he been this way, this prisoner all this time? “He follows our orders, he kills who we tell him to kill—“

“He what?”

“We don’t just use him for a good blow, Steve. He’s an Asset of Hydra. He helps maintain order. He is one of Hydra’s top assassins.”

Steve glared at him for a moment before turning back to Bucky. “Bucky, come on. You know me. Please, you know me.” He thought he might have seen a flash of something in Bucky’s eyes, but it was gone before Steve could get a good look. “Bucky, please. Please, come on Buck. You know me. It’s Steve.”

“Steve, babe.”

“Don’t fucking call me that!”

Rumlow stepped over to both of them slowly. “You gotta calm down babe,” he said, voice low.

“Fuck you!”

“Your boy is the cuff, remember? You better settle down.”

“Go to hell! Go to fucking hell!”

Rumlow smirked, turned away from Steve. He drew his fist back and slammed a punch hard against Bucky’s cheek, sending him reeling down to the ground. Steve screamed, saw red, lunged at Rumlow with a feral cry, tackling him to the ground. He pulled his hand back to punch him when a thick, strong, metal arm grabbed him by the wrist and threw him back into the wall.

Steve saw stars for a moment, long enough to see Bucky reach for the knife and bring it back to his wrist.

“No! God! STOP IT!” Steve screamed as he grabbed at Bucky’s arms.

“Hold Soldier,” Rumlow said calmly, standing up from the floor.

The three of them were panting in a circle, trickles of blood coming from noses, from cuts, from split lips. After a moment Steve stepped away, raising his hands, back hitting the wall once more and sinking down to the floor, his legs giving out on him.

“He’s the cuffs. You behave. You be good. Alright, babe? It’s simple.”

The two men walked away the few steps to the kitchen. Steve watched Bucky sit down on the stool at the counter easily, as if there was nothing wrong, as if none of what had happened had happened. Rumlow was puttering around looking for something in the fridge, tossed Bucky a plum.

Steve ran his hands through his hair with a wet gasp and looked around the apartment. It was the same, he thought, but everything was different. He could not even look at the bed, the shackles hanging off the frame. His shoes were still by the dresser where he took them off. The fan spun idly clockwise above the bed, and the fern was in the little blue pot. It was the same. It was a small apartment, but from here on the floor, with Brock and Bucky speaking softly in Russian in the kitchen, it felt so much bigger.

* * *

_“I was thinking of moving someplace a little bigger, since we’re both here so often.”_

_“Don’t you dare,” Steve replied._

_“You really do like it here?”_

_“Yeah, it—“ Steve stopped himself._

_“What?”_

_“It reminds me of the place Bucky and I shared. I don’t know. It’s nice.”_

_“Good to know.”_

_“But this one has its own shower. The tenement house had shared showers for the whole building. It was awful.”_

_Brock laughed. “You wanna take a shower now?”_

_Steve bit his lip. “Only if you’re coming in with me,” he said with a blush._

_“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”_

_“Hmm. How would you like me, Agent Rumlow?”_

_“Soaking wet and moaning.” Steve laughed and Brock kissed him, pushing him towards the bathroom._

* * *

“Can I take a shower?” Steve asked quietly. He met Rumlow’s eye when the man looked over from the fridge. “You said this was a break. Or do you need to come on my fucking face again?”

“You’re right. This is a break. Go shower. I’ll make you some food and then I’ll give you another round of the benzo.” Steve scoffed and looked away, slowly standing up. “What’s the matter? Don’t want to feel good?”

“I want to kill you. That’s what I want to do.” Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky’s head raise, assessing the situation. Steve stepped back an inch and raised his hands. “Not yet though.”

Rumlow snorted. “And here I was worried we burned all the fight outta ya.”

When he was finally in the bathroom Steve looked at his reflection for the first time. He flinched hard at the sight before him, almost convinced it was another person entirely, another one of the hallucinations. He did not even recognize himself. A small smattering of light stubble ghosted his cheeks, and the circles under his eyes were bruise-dark and deep. He looked pale, sick, filthy with cum on his face and in his hair, mixing with the dried blood on the side of his head. His hands were shaking as he pushed his hair back from his brow. He caught sight of his wrists, still bruised black and purple almost halfway up his arms and moving down his hands from the way he had been pulling on the cuffs, even after hours of being out of them.

What did it matter? Bucky did not recognize himself either. Would he forget he was even named Steve too?

He slammed the cup from the counter into the mirror with a loud crash. The mirror shattered; most of it stayed in the frame but a few large shards fell onto the counter. He grabbed one and brought it to his throat. Bucky and Brock ran into the bathroom. He pressed himself against the back wall, facing them.

His hand was shaking, he could feel the point of the broken mirror at his neck, nicking at his skin as he stared at Bucky and Brock who were standing in the doorway.

“Steve, babe,” he took a step forward—

“No don’t!” Steve pressed the mirror shard just a hair deeper, he could feel a small trickle of blood at his neck. “I’ll do it!”

“Babe, you’re not going to do that. You’re too scared.”

“I’m not— I’m not scared of this, Brock. I’m not—”

* * *

_Steve woke up with a jerk, gasping into the dark night. He could not catch his breath, chest heaving as he clutched at the sheets beneath him. He did not know where he was at first, but then his eye caught sight of the spinning fan, the leather couch, the carpets he had grown to love. He came back down to earth, slowly._

_“Babe?”_

_It felt like he was having an asthma attack. He could not breathe, he was blinking away tears. Brock sat up next to him. All Steve wanted to do was curl up in the man’s arms but he did not let himself._

_“Babe, what’s wrong?”_

_“B-bad dream— I’m fine— I’m fine.”_

_“You’re clearly not.”_

_He was trembling, staring ahead of him._

_“Tell me.”_

_“Got— got another one for the list.”_

_“The list?”_

_“The things I’m scared of list.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Dying,” Steve shuddered. “Did it once. I can’t— I can’t do it again.”_

_“Is that what you were dreaming about?”_

_“Yeah.” He wiped his face, masking a sniffle. “I just— I don’t want to die. Not again.”_

_“You’re not gonna die, you hear me?” He turned Steve’s face around and faced him. “You’re not gonna die any time soon, and when you do, it’ll be warm in your bed, with all your kids and grandkids, you hear?”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“Sure I do. Believe me. Nobody’s dying. I’m old, I know way more than you.”_

_Steve snorted. “Fine Brock. Good to know.” Brock grinned at that._

_He glanced around the room, large and mostly empty. Out the door the hallway went on into the apartment proper, a living room with expensive, but tasteful furnishings he did not pick out, a kitchen with more gizmos and thingamagigs than Steve could even name, let alone know how to use. It felt cold, desolate._

_“Can we start sleeping at your place from now on?” Steve asked into the dark. “I know this is more comfortable, bigger but I—“_

_“You fucking hate it here.”_

_He turned and looked back at Brock. “Was it that obvious?”_

_“I can read you like a book, Rogers. We can sleep at my place… but starting tomorrow.” He pulled Steve back down to the bed and curled around him, voice slurring._

_“Okay. That’d be good.”_

_“Good to know…”_

* * *

“Yes, yes you are. You told me, babe.”

He spoke to Bucky in Russian. Steve’s eyes darted back and forth between the two men. Bucky took a cautious step forward. He had the knife in his hand. The metal of it glinted the same as the metal of his arm. Steve stared at it for a moment before looking up and meeting Bucky’s eye.

Bucky brought the knife to his throat.

“You do this, he does it too, Steve.”

“Don’t, Rumlo—“

“You’re going to kill him, even after you just got him back? He survived all this time, just like you. Doesn’t that mean something? Steve, he’s here for you. We brought him back for you. You can’t do this to him too.”

Steve was shaking his head, fresh tears trailing down his face. “Please—“

Rumlow spoke in Russian once more.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky whispered. “It’s okay.”

“Buck— Buck, please—“

“If you go, I go,” said Bucky, voice calm. There was that something in his eye though, that Steve could not identify. The flash of terror, but familiar. Something he was used to by now, and that broke Steve’s heart even more. “You don’t want that do you?” Steve shook his head. “That’s right, you don’t want that.”

“Bucky, please—“

“I’m with you, Steve. I’m right here with you—” Something changed in Bucky’s face and Steve’s breath hitched. _No. Not that. Don’t._ “I’m with you.”

_I’m with you to the end of the line._ Steve could hear the words on Bucky’s lips, even though he had not said them. Steve shook as he went down into the memory, and shook as he felt the thrum of terror pass through his body.

He dropped the shard of the mirror onto the ground where it shattered at his feet. Bucky blinked down at the broken pieces before looking up at him, bringing the knife down. Steve looked around the room, desperate, unsteady on his feet as he leaned back heavily against the wall. He met Bucky’s eyes.

“Help me,” Steve whispered. “ _Please_.”

Bucky gave him an odd look, his eyes glinting in the strange fluorescent light of the bathroom.

Rumlow spoke in Russian once more, and the look was gone. Bucky stepped forward and cupped Steve’s face in his hand and pressed their lips together. Steve wept into the kiss, before squeezing his eyes shut and turning away as much as he could, bracketed between Bucky’s arms.

“Come on,” Bucky whispered, pulling him back towards the apartment with a gentled hand.

“Go to the bed,” Brock said. “I’ll grab the benzo. Settle in.”

“Brock,” Steve whispered, meeting the other man’s eyes as he stepped out from the bathroom. “I don’t want this. Please just stop. I won’t—”

I won’t _what?_ Tell anyone? Run screaming to SHIELD? Steve did not even know what he was saying anymore. He had nothing to bargain with and here he was, bargaining, desperately. Rumlow almost looked like he was considering the offer. He gave Steve a soft, contrite smile and patted him on the cheek.

“Go to the bed. It’ll be better. It’s alright. It felt better before, remember?”

* * *

_“I like your bed,” Steve said in a daze, coming down from his orgasm._

_“You like sex. Don’t confuse the two.”_

_“I like your bed, I’m serious.”_

_“Don’t get too attached, I’m pretty sure it’s older than you. I should probably at least get a new mattress soon._

_“It’s comfortable.” Not too hard and certainly not too soft. The warm body was just a bonus._

_Brock chuckled, smacked Steve lightly on the thigh to get him to roll over. Steve did gladly and let Brock wrap his arms around him, settling back into the man’s chest, pressing his face into the pillow. “Good to know.”_

* * *

Bucky pushed him towards the bed, but what was worse is that Steve let himself be pushed. He crawled on top of the sheets, closing his eyes against the sight of the cuffs. Bucky ran his hand up and down Steve’s back before settling behind Steve, pulling him back into his chest. Steve shuddered and waited, pressing his face into the pillow, like he had done a thousand times before.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw jeez, Steve. If only your writer was a nicer person...
> 
> A little housekeeping; someone asked me for a rebloggable link on tumblr for this fic, and at the time there was none, but that has been remedied. The link is coming from my nsfw blog though, not my personal one, due to the content matter of this story. Feel free to reblog/share as you wish. (in fact, I'd greatly appreciate it! :D)
> 
> If you're under 18 please do not follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.
> 
> So. [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).
> 
> Hope y'all have a good weekend. Next update in the next few days. Thanks all for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

_“Can we do something tomorrow night?” Steve asked quietly in the locker room. Brock’s eyes widened, and Steve couldn’t blame him. They never talked about what they were doing, what was happening between them, at work. They were nothing if not discrete. But this was different._

_“I thought we would be.”_

_“No, I mean. Not just meeting at your place. I need— I, umm—“_

_“What is it, Steve?”_

_“I don’t—“_

_“Something to do tomorrow night?”_

_“Something distracting. With— with alcohol.”_

_“You can’t get drunk.”_

_“I can fucking try.”_

_“Let’s go dancing, clubbing,” Brock whispered after glancing around to make sure no one was watching. If he thought Steve’s request was odd, he didn’t show it on his face. “We’ll drive a few towns over, no one will know us. Sound good?”_

_“Sounds perfect,” Steve said with a small smile._

_“Good. Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve saw the needle coming closer to his skin, Rumlow’s hand warm on his wrist. A thrill of fear ran though him. “Wait, wait, wait—“

“It’s okay, babe.”

“Wait, just—“ He tried to pull his hand away, but Rumlow held firm, and Bucky’s hand slid over and pinned his arm down at the elbow. “It’s the— it’s the benzo, right? It’s not—“

Rumlow quirked his head to the side, quiet for a moment before, “Oh babe. Yeah, it’s the benzo. It’s not the hallucinogenic. Don’t worry. It’ll be good, babe. I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“You did once already.”

“That was for your own good. You know that.” Steve frowned up at him, and Rumlow put the syringe down on the nightstand next to the fern in the blue pot. Steve glanced at it for a moment before the other man took his face and kissed him. Steve tried to hold still, to let it happen. He shuddered into the other man, revulsed, relieved. He closed his eyes when it was over. 

Steve hissed between his teeth and turned away when Rumlow injected the benzodiazepine mix into his arm. He knew he was imagining it but he thought he could almost feel the chemicals running through his veins again, cold and hot at the same time, mixing with his blood, rushing to his heart. He wished it burned. He wished it stung.

Rumlow said something to Bucky in Russian, gesturing to another syringe. Steve frowned once more. He did not even know that Rumlow spoke Russian before this, but here he was speaking fluently. Bucky should not be able to speak it either, but the world had changed. _“I want you with me when the world changes,”_ Rumlow’s voice whispered. Is this what he meant?

Bucky shrugged. _“Da,”_ he said softly, rolling up his sleeve. Steve watched as Bucky winced when the needle pierced his skin and saw the chemicals slowly empty into him. Bucky sank back onto the bed next to Steve and faced him. His eyes were so blue.

Steve’s eyes were wet when he turned to Rumlow for a moment.

“Babe?”

“B-better? It’ll be—“

“Better, yeah. Just like last time.”

“But I’ll crash again.” Steve remembered the pain in his head, the vomiting. He would do that again. He was fine with that, with hurting. Rumlow nodded. Steve turned and faced Bucky on the bed. “Will he be okay?”

“You’re so sweet, Steve.” Steve bit his lip at that. “He’ll be fine, he’s done it plenty of times before. He knows how he’ll react. He doesn’t crash nearly as bad as you, I promise.”

Steve looked back at Bucky. He lifted his hand and his fingers ghosted over Bucky’s face, his pale skin, his nose. It was him. He was here.

Rumlow said something else in Russian and Bucky responded never taking his eyes off of Steve. Steve was completely lost to the conversation as Rumlow looked down on them on the bed. They were talking about him. He knew that much. Even with everything that happened, for some strange reason that was what left him feeling self conscious. Rumlow pushed some of Steve’s hair back from his forehead, Bucky took Steve’s face with his metal hand and kissed him. Steve let him, softly moaning, barely exhaling, into the touch as the edges of his vision went dark and the drugs put him to sleep.

* * *

_“You gonna tell me why you wanna do something ‘distracting’ tomorrow, babe?” Brock asked as they lay on the bed. He was panting. Steve had kept asking him to go harder, make it hurt, and Brock had obliged. Steve wished he would feel it in the morning, but he knew he wouldn’t. He wished it hurt more. “Or why you wanted me to fucking pound you just now? I don’t mind, but I’m old. That’s not going to be an every night kinda thing.”_

_Steve hummed but did not respond._

_“Well? Gonna tell me?”_

_“No,” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “No, I’m not.”_

_It was hot for a night in March. They were sweaty with sex, sweaty with heat. Steve felt sticky and was mentally preparing himself to get up and get into Brock’s shower._

_“Babe?”_

_“You need a new fan,” he said as he stared at it. It spun slowly; it was so old there was only one speed now, slow. It barely moved air, let alone cooled things down. He could not help but drift away for a moment under it as it spun counterclockwise over him. “Yours is a piece of shit.”_

_“Keeping secrets, acting bitchy; that’s real endearing.”_

_Steve sat up, swinging his legs over the bed and standing. “Fuck you,” he muttered walking over the bathroom. “I’m going to shower.”_

_“Yeah, you fucking need it.”_

_“Better than being here.”_

_“Good to know.” Steve heard him moving around the apartment behind him as he closed the door to the bathroom and muttering, “Too fucking old for this shit.”_

_Steve stared at himself in the mirror. It took all of his power not to punch his reflection, not to take the thick glass on the counter and slam it into the mirror. He turned on the shower, ice cold, and stepped under the spray. His body started shivering almost immediately but he did not care. He could not even feel it._

* * *

He woke to hands on his body, lips on his neck and face. He was on his side, feeling a hard cock thrust into him from behind. In front of him there was a mouth on his own and he felt the strange press of a hand stroking his cock against another. A confused whine sounded in the back of his throat and he heard Rumlow chuckle behind him, pumping into Steve harder, reaching around and flicking Steve’s nipple, wrapping a hand firmly around his neck. It felt amazing.

“Harder—“ he whispered, word coming out on its own without Steve’s leave.

Steve gasped into the mouth at his face, Bucky’s mouth, a sharp, high whine jerking itself from his lips at every one of Rumlow’s thrusts until the man finally stilled emptying inside of Steve. He could feel tacky cum drying on his stomach and face already. Bucky stroked his cock together with Steve’s a few more times before Steve came with a gasp, spilling over Bucky’s hand, Bucky following shortly after.

He started laughing. There was nothing funny, but it fell from his lips. His muscles still hurt from the Leeches, his mind was still reeling from the hallucinations, but there were hands on his ribs and Bucky was here. He had missed Bucky so much. This was so much better. Rumlow was right.

Then Bucky started laughing too. He curled into Steve’s body, nestling into his neck, laughing into Steve’s skin. It tickled and Steve could feel it rumbling through his chest. Their legs tangled on the bed, their hands roamed each other’s skin. It was perfect. He could not care about anything.

* * *

_He walked straight to the bar, and handed the bartender the black credit card Tony and Pepper had set up for him that he barely ever used. “Give me whatever you have that’s the strongest,” he said._

_He tossed back the shot the bartender handed him, only vaguely noticing Brock staring at him as he put the glass down and gestured for another, then another, then another._

_“Steve, what are you—”_

_“You think we can find coke here?” he asked. Brock stared at him, shocked. Steve laughed, shoving him. “Come on! I’m not feeling this yet, but I bet I’d feel cocaine. Have you ever done it? This seems like the place it’d be, right?”_

_“What’s gotten into you?”_

_“Let’s do coke, yes or no?”_

_“That’s some distraction, babe”_

_“Yes or no? Come on!” Brock stared at him and Steve leaned in close, eyes wide. “Come on, Brock. Please?”_

_Brock sighed and leaned over the counter and spoke quietly to the bartender; Steve could not hear it over the sound of music, loud enough to reverberate through his very bones. A few quick glances and nods to the bathroom, and Brock shot him a wink. Steve laughed again as Brock pulled him over, through the thick throng of people and into a hall. They walked down, music muffled and knocked on a door to what Steve thought was a closet. A man pulled the door open, and Brock murmured to him to, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket. The man handed Brock a baggie and Brock pulled Steve by the arm into the bathroom, pressing him into one of the stalls._

_“This it?” Steve asked._

_“Yeah,” Brock murmured. He opened the baggie, licked his pinky and stuck it in, rubbing a bit of the powder over his gums. “Decent stuff too.”_

_“How can you tell?”_

_“I’m already buying Captain America coke in a fucking club, I’m not going to teach you how to tell if it’s good or not. This is a one-time thing.”_

_“Let’s do it.”_

_Brock took some toilet paper and wiped down the porcelain back of the toilet before pouring out some of the powder and gingerly pushing it into a line._

_“You know what to do?” Steve rolled his eyes and bent down over the line, inhaling it quickly, probably too quickly, trying to imitate the way he had seen it done on some of the television shows he watched with Natasha sometimes. He squeezed his eyes against the feeling of it in his nose as Brock poured out another, much smaller, line for himself and snorted it. “Feel it?”_

_Steve blinked at him. There was a tickle of_ something _in his body. He felt something. A fuzziness at the sides of his vision, a looseness in his limbs. A euphoric something creeping in through his skin, his pores. He wanted to fuck, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to run._

_“Let’s dance,” Brock said, pulling him out of the stall._

_“Where?”_

_“On the dance floor.”_

_“You mean all those people just fucking to too loud music?”_

_Brock was the one to laugh this time. “You interested, babe?” His hand wandered down to the front of Steve’s pants. “You seem interested.”_

_Steve blinked again. He felt himself smile without actually meaning to do so. He pressed close into Brock. “Only if you can make me come.”_

_Brock’s eyes widened and he laughed harder, pulling Steve back into the club, taking a quick detour to get another shot of whatever it was Steve had been drinking and they went out into the crowd._

_“I like this!” Steve yelled, feeling something, feeling everything. “I think it’s working!”_

_“Good to know!” Brock yelled back, pressing their bodies together as Steve laughed, loud, brittle, harsh._

* * *

“See, Steve. Isn’t this good?” Brock asked. “The bad makes this so much better, right?” Steve nodded again. He and Bucky spared one quick grin over at Rumlow who chuckled at them, leaning over to put his phone back onto the nightstand. “Look at you two. Just a pair of little sex kittens.”

“This is better,” Steve gasped into Bucky’s skin. Rumlow chuckled once more, ran a hand through Steve’s hair. Steve keened at the touch.

Steve laughed again. _Sex kittens_ , that was a funny image. The sound was swallowed up by Bucky kissing him again. They laughed into each other’s mouths, pressing impossibly close. Everywhere Steve had skin he wanted to feel Bucky. It was electric, miraculous.

“How do you feel, Steve?” Brock asked from another world.

“Warm,” he replied, neck stretching as Bucky’s lips latched on. “Hot.”

“Hot, huh?”

“Not sexy hot,” he tried to clarify, words slurring, but a moan tore through him as Bucky bit into his skin. “Maybe— maybe a little sexy hot.”

“You’re always sexy hot, babe.”

Steve was giggling, twitching, aching, arching as Bucky’s lips wandered over his skin. It felt like a flash of lightning every time they touched.

* * *

_There was a flash of light in the club. There were dozens of flashing lights in the club. It was dark and flashing and strobe-y. Steve started fighting Brock’s hand as it slid down his body. Anyone could see. Any flash of light could be a paparazzi’s bulb, could be just an observant club-goer with a keen enough eye to be able to recognize Captain America with another man’s hand in his pants._

_Steve could no longer feel the cocaine._

_“Brock— quit it—“_

_He knew Brock could hear him over the music. He was yelling right in the man’s ear. Brock was pasted up behind him, their bodies completely flush. He was uncomfortable. This was a bad idea, even if he had been the one to ask for it. His skin did not feel like his skin, the alcohol, as expected did nothing._

_Brock’s teeth were on his neck._

_“Brock, that’s enough!”_

_Steve pulled away and spun around to face him, only to have to bite back a shout, a groan as Brock came forward and pressed them together once more, shoving his leg between Steve’s, grinding against his crotch._

_“What’s the matter, babe?”_

_“Damn it, someone could see!” He looked around panicked, realizing what he had been doing, how he had been acting. Everyone in the club could have been watching him. “Shit! SHIT!”_

_“You didn’t mind before,” Brock called as Steve started towards the exit._

_“When I was fucking high! It’s not working anymore! Fuck!”_

_Brock threw up his hands. “Oh great! Good to fucking know!”_

_Steve scowled and stalked out of the club, knowing Brock was following him, angry, and not caring. He was simultaneously terrified and didn’t care. He did not fucking care._

* * *

“You both are so good,” Rumlow murmured. Steve smiled; he liked being good. Bucky smiled into Steve’s chest.

“You are good,” Bucky whispered to him. Steve started laughing again, reaching up to run his hands through Bucky’s hair. And god, did his hair feel like something else! Each strand was unique and felt different on his skin. Steve almost screamed.

He caught sight of his wrists. The bruises were even worse than last time. “Wow,” he whispered once more. He loved it. He loved the way it looked. He loved that he could bruise at all. He was almost shaking with pleasure. He had been hurt, and here was the proof. They never stayed this long unless he had done something really stupid like broken a bone.

He loved it.

“Your wrists are bruised,” Bucky said.

_“Your wrists are bruised.”_

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered to him, suddenly remembering _something_. Something he could not place. “Please don’t leave.” He flexed his arm in front of him. It hurt to bend his wrists back and forth, to rotate his hands, but the way his body was moving, the way the bruises looked on his skin, the way it ached and hurt made it worth it. “Look at the bruises. Stay, please stay.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“Why?”

“Look at the bruises,” he whispered. Bucky curled next to Steve and he and Bucky stared up at hisarm. Bucky ran a finger over the mottled skin, first lightly than a little harder. Steve moaned. The feeling of the pain moving through his arm felt right. Like he deserved it for something. _Something._ “Please don’t leave.”

* * *

_“Leave me alone!” Steve yelled over his shoulder Brock followed him down the sidewalk, the loud thrum of music fading as he went. He looked for his bike before remembering Brock had driven them in his truck. He did not even know where they were. He just started walking through the sketchy neighborhood without any sense of direction._

_“Babe, what the hell?”_

_“Fuck off, Rumlow.”_

_“Oh it’s ‘Rumlow’ now?”_

_“I’m going home. Leave me alone.”_

_“No, you don’t get to go that easy. What’s your fucking problem?”_

_“I told you to stop acting like a jerk, and you kept it up. That’s my fucking problem! Someone could’ve seen! Shit!”_

_“That’s how people dance nowadays, babe. You were drawing attention by not acting that way.”_

_“Fuck you. That isn’t fucking dancing.”_

_“Fuck you too! That’s just fucking great. Good to know! Coulda fooled me!”_

* * *

Rumlow was speaking in Russian and Bucky was responding, still smiling, still running fingers over Steve’s bruised skin, as curious as Steve was to see the shift of color, to hear the hiss of pain as the hurt tore through his nerves.

Brock clicked his tongue at them. “Be nice. Don’t hurt him.”

“Sorry Agent Rumlow.”

“It’s okay, Brock. I like it.”

“Stop that, babe. It’s not time for that right now.”

After a moment, Bucky sat up and pulled Steve with him and off the bed. Steve walked after him as they moved through the apartment. He had to stop, head spinning. He nearly stumbled and Bucky caught him and the two of them started giggling as if they had averted some epic disaster. They stood for a moment, holding onto each other for a little while longer before they finally succumbed to gravity, crashing onto the couch. He hit the hard, wooden frame of the back of the couch with a crash, and saw stars for a minute but shook it off. The pain was good.

“You alright?” Brock called out. Steve only laughed.

Their limbs tangled and Steve was laughing so hard his ribs hurt, his face ached. He felt like dancing, like screaming, like crashing through the door, the window, the walls, running with Bucky by his side and never stopping. He wanted to run away, but he did not know why, just that his legs wanted to run and run and run. He’d never stop laughing. He didn’t care what he did as long as he had Bucky at his side.

He didn’t fucking care.

“How you doing babe?”

“He’s here, Brock.”

“I know. It’s good, yeah?”

“Yeah.” This was better. This was impossibly better.

His hands wandered over Bucky’s skin and Bucky’s hands wandered over his, but it did not feel like that. It felt like drawing a map, it felt like learning something new, it felt like being a child again. Deep down he knew he was sexually charged, but he could not bring that to mind. This was something more, this was something better. He was drowning in it, drowning in Bucky, in Brock, in the leather couch. He was shaking, acting in a way he never acted before and Brock was watching him and Bucky from his place in the kitchen. Was he enjoying this? He knew that he had an audience but he did not care.

He took Bucky’s metal and hand put it in his hair. “Pull,” he whispered. Bucky did.

* * *

_Steve scoffed, a loud growl in his throat and started walking faster. Rumlow spun him around and pushed him into a small alley between buildings._

_“God fucking damn it, just leave me alone!”_

_“Hey!” A voice called out from the sidewalk. They both turned and saw a man and a woman peering down the alley at them, looking concerned. “Everything okay there?”_

_“We’re fine,” Steve said, pulling his Captain America voice out so fast even he was surprised. He was anything but fine. “Thank you.”_

_The couple left after a weighted moment and Steve and Brock were alone once more. Steve could not breathe, his heart was racing, he ran his hands through his hair and turned away from Rumlow. He could not focus, it seemed like the walls were closing in on them._

_“Babe, you gotta calm down—“_

_“No, that just proves my fucking point! There’s always someone watching, Bucky! There’s always someone—”_

_“What the fuck?”_

_Steve froze, realizing what he had said. He stared at Brock panting._

_“Having some old boyfriend regrets? Good to know.”_

_“Hit me.”_

* * *

“More, Buck. More.”

“What do you need?”

“Harder. Make it hurt.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. Agent Rumlow said—”

“Make it hurt. I need it to hurt.”

“Agent,” Bucky called out. Steve tried to shush him and not draw attention but it was too late. Brock walked over from the kitchen and looked down at Steve and Bucky on the couch. “He asked me to hurt him.”

“Babe,” Brock said softly. “It’s okay. You’re feeling good, right? This is better. We want to feel good.”

“It’s better,” Steve whispered, eyes frantically darting between the two men, around the room. “It’s better, it’s better, it’s better. I need it. It needs to hurt. It’s better. Please.”

“You need to calm down a little, babe. We should eat something.”

“Brock, tell him to hit me. Please…”

* * *

_“What?”_

_“Hit me.” Brock stared at him, and Steve glared back. “Come on!”_

_Brock pulled back and punched him, hard. He felt his lip split on Brock’s ring, his head slammed back into the brick building behind him. He saw stars. He needed more._

_“Again! Come on!” Brock hit him again. “Again, do it!” Brock punched him once more, but then stopped. Steve reached out and shook him by the collar of his shirt. “Do it! Come on!”_

_“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Brock asked taking a half step back, trying to look into his eyes._

_“Come on! Hit me! You’re into that kinky shit, aren’t you!? Make it hurt! Make me cum with your fucking fist breaking my fucking face!”_

_“Steve, get a hold of—“_

_Steve’s eyes darted frantically around the alley and he saw a glass bottle on the ground near his feet. He grabbed it, smashed it against the wall and put the jagged end up against his neck with one hand, and pulled Brock’s hand to go around the neck of the bottle with the others. He could feel the glass nicking his neck. His breath was hot and heavy in his chest._

_“Come on! Do it.”_

_“Steve, stop—“_

_“Do it, do it, do it, do it, come on! Come on, you mother fucker! Do it, do it—“ Brock tried to yank his hands back, but Steve didn’t let him. “Come on. Do it. Kill me!”_

_“What!?”_

_“KILL ME!”_

_Steve froze, face wet, staring desperately at Brock. He was shaking violently. Slowly, inch by inch, allowed Brock to pull the bottle away from his neck, fighting him all the while. Brock finally took hold of the bottle and tossed it down the alley where it shattered distantly against the concrete. Steve slid down the wall and collapsed on the floor. Brock crouched in front of him._

_“Steve?”_

_“I shouldn’t be here,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t— I shouldn’t—“_

_“You’re right where you’re supposed to be.”_

_“No,” Steve said, biting back a sob. “I’m not. I should’ve— I didn’t—“ His breath kept hitching, over and over and over as he tried to fight back tears, fight back the horrible, wracking sobs that he had kept inside for so long. He was not letting them out yet. He would never let them out if he had a choice, but he was so close now._

_“Steve, you need to tell me what is going on.”_

_Steve did not speak for a very long time. He was looking in Brock’s direction but not seeing him, staring ahead, breath quick and shallow, eyes red and puffy. He flinched a little when Brock wiped away a tear with his thumb. It was enough to shake him out of wherever he was._

_“It’s March 3_ _ rd _ _,” he finally confessed._

_“What’s so important about March 3_ _ rd _ _, Steve?”_

_“Bucky died a year ago. Or— what? Seventy-two years ago? I don’t know. I can’t—” he cut himself off, stared at the ground._

_Brock did not say anything for a moment. “Okay. Okay, that explains it. Good to know. Come on, babe. Let’s get you home.”_

* * *

“Come on, babe. Let’s get you some food.”

“No, Brock. He needs to hit me, he needs to kill me, he needs to cut off my arm. It’s only fair, it’s only fair— I shouldn’t— I should’ve—“

“Shh. Babe, you’re being crazy. This is like the club remember, you were a little crazy then too.”

Steve nodded. He remembered the club, he remembered the cocaine that wasn’t good enough.

“Shoulda given me the benzo then, huh?” He looked at Bucky, sitting next to him on the couch, regarding Steve curiously. Steve reached over and touched his face. “He’s here, Brock. He didn’t die. I don’t—”

“I know, babe. It’s better, isn’t it? Hydra brought him back to you.”

“It’s only fair…” he kept looking between Bucky and Brock. This was better. But it was wrong. Steve was wrong. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t— It needs to hurt. It’s only fair— It should’ve been me.”

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. Look at me. Look at me.” Steve met the man’s eyes as he stood behind the sofa looking down at him and Bucky. He cupped Steve’s head, and Steve leaned into the hand, blinking up at him through his eyelashes. “I know you want the pain; you like it, you need it, but it’s not going to happen right now. No more of this masochism bullshit. You don’t have to make that call. You’ve had a rough time, so you’re confused, but you don’t get to make that call anymore. Hydra decides when you’re supposed to hurt, Steve.”

“But I—“

“What?”

“I don’t know. I need it to hurt, Brock. I need it. It should’ve been me”

It wasn’t masochism, a small voice deep within him said. He did not like being hurt. He needed it. He deserved it.

“No, you don’t. Hydra decides when you’re supposed to hurt, which means I decide when you’re supposed to hurt. You need to listen to me right now, can you do that?” Steve nodded. “Alright. Right now you’re supposed to eat.”

He swallowed and finally gave Brock a small nod. “Okay.”

“Come on, I made oatmeal.”

“Then after?”

“After what?”

“Can it hurt after?”

“We’ll see. But I don’t think that’s what you need.” Steve shook his head as he followed Brock to the kitchen. He was wrong. Steve needed it like oxygen.

* * *

_“We should break up,” Steve said softly from the passenger’s seat in Brock’s truck. “You should break up with me. I’m not—“_

_“I don’t think that’s what you need. That’s bullshit, and you know it.”_

_“It’s not— I can’t—“_

_“What?” Steve did not respond right away. “Tell me, what can’t you do?”_

_“I can’t be happy. I don’t des— he died, Brock. Why the fuck do I get to be happy?”_

_“Oh my god, are all superheroes like this? You’re the most fucked up guy I know, Steve, I swear to god.”_

_“I’m sorry,” he replied, voice small._

_“Don’t be fucking sorry.”_

_“Brock, I can’t—“_

_“Hush. Quit it. You don’t have to make that call.” They were quiet for a moment. Then Brock snorted. “I make you happy?”_

_Steve stared at his lap. “Yes. I’m sor—“_

_“Don’t be sorry, babe. It’s good to know.”_

* * *

Steve and Bucky sat on the stools by the kitchen counter eating their oatmeal. Brock leaned against the fridge, holding his own bowl. They ate quietly. Steve could not actually remember the last time he had oatmeal, but it was warm and heavy and had brown sugar in it. His eyes met Bucky’s and they shared a grin, both of them starting to eat quicker, daring the other to follow along.

“Careful, boys, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“Sorry, Agent Rumlow,” Bucky said.

“Sorry, Brock.” 

Steve turned back to Bucky with a grin, watching the other man. Bucky had grown tense for a moment at Brock’s scolding, before his body became loose from the drugs once more, and his head rolled on his shoulders to face Steve once more. They giggled at each other, foreheads pressing together. This was so much better.

“You two are something else,” Brock said. “Babe?” Steve looked at him. “Are you happy?”

Steve nodded. “I think so. I don’t know.”

Then Brock and Bucky started speaking again, in Russian again. Steve almost rolled his eyes, but there was something kind of interesting about the language, the way he did not understand it at all. It buzzed over his head, making him feel sleepy. He pushed his bowl away from him and rested his head on his arms on the counter, eyes going back and forth between Brock and Bucky.

“You should hear him, Stevie. He’s getting very philosophical.”

“He was always smarter than me.”

“Hmm. He’s definitely one of _those guys_ when it comes to getting high. You’re much more physical.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s good. You’re different, that’s all.” He smiled at Steve. “You’re perfect, babe.”

“No, I’m not.” He glanced down at the counter, his finger running over the laminate. It was easier than meeting Brock’s eye then. 

Bucky and Brock spoke in Russian as Steve closed his eyes and drifted under their words on the counter. Bucky’s hand ran through his hair and Steve sighed into the touch.

Then Brock’s hands were running down his back. “You’ve had a rough time, haven’t you?” He asked. Steve nodded. “But it’s okay. You’re perfect, Steve,” he whispered, pulling Steve up from the counter, pressing Steve’s back into his chest. “So sweet.”

“I’m not—“

“Come on, babe.” Brock pulled him up from the chair, and they started moving to the bed.

“What happened to him?” Bucky asked Brock, running his metal hand down Steve’s chest. Steve leaned back into Brock, gasping as the man’s fingers ghosted over his neck, his chest, his nipples.

“He doesn’t think he’s good enough,” Brock said into Steve’s skin. “He’s been thinking that since the moment I met him.”

Steve shuddered as Bucky came close. “He should not think such things,” Bucky said softly. Steve could not meet either of their eyes. 

“I agree.”

Steve’s knees went weak underneath him, gravity, the drugs, the feeling of hands all over his body all pulling him down. He slipped down onto his knees, and the two men followed as he sat limp between them, half sitting-half kneeling between their arms on the floor.

He could feel everything. His eyes went wide, he was trembling; “Wow.”

Bucky said something in Russian that made Brock laugh. “He is, isn’t he?” He said easily before slipping back into the other language.

“What did he say?” Steve asked.

“That you’re fun like this. I told him you’re fun almost all the time. I think your boy’s falling in love, Stevie.”

 _“He can do better…”_ Steve thought he said it out loud, but it might have been swallowed by a moan, by lips on his mouth, by hands on his skin.

* * *

_Steve fiddled with the hem of his shirt as they pulled into the garage underneath Brock’s apartment. He could see his bike parked by the garage door and reached into his pocket for his keys, and got out and started towards it._

_“I guess I’ll see you at work.”_

_“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”_

_“Brock, it’s over.” Steve hated the words, but he also knew the moment they left his mouth that they left his mouth they were necessary. It was better this way. It hurt, but it was better. “I can’t—“_

_“Come on, upstairs. We’re going to bed.”_

_“Brock—“_

_“Steve, babe. We’re not breaking up. You’re having a bad night, but that’s all. Come on.”_

_Steve followed him up the stairs, shoulders slumped. He was tired. He leaned heavily against wall as Brock fiddled with the key in the lock. Brock looked at him and Steve tried to smile back. It didn’t reach his eyes and he looked away, down at the grubby floor of the hallway._

_“And how do you want me, Agent Rumlow?” Steve asked, trying to make it sound light. It sounded brittle instead._

_“What?”_

_“Come on,” Steve whispered. He reached for Brock and pulled the man in front of him. He ghosted his hand between Brock’s legs. “How do you want me? I’ll do whatever. I’ll—“ he swallowed, trying to push down the tightness in his throat. “I’ll make it good. That’s what I’m sup—” he couldn’t even finish the sentence._

_Brock stared at him for a moment, and Steve felt his face turn red. He blinked away something in his eye as he stared at the floor. He was so tired._

_“Oh, babe.” Brock pulled him out of the hall and into the small apartment, guiding him towards the bed. “We’re going to do something different, okay babe? Do you trust me?”_

_“Um, yeah. O-okay,” Steve breathed._

_“Good. Good to know.”_

_Steve’s breath hitched at what he said next._

_“You’re so good. babe.”_

* * *

They were touching him everywhere. It felt like he was being slowly, painstakingly taken apart with their hands. He could have died happy right then. He was content to just sit back against Brock’s chest and let them work him over. He was growing hard under Bucky’s hand, and his breath was coming up faster under Brock’s ministrations. 

“We’re going to do something different, okay, babe?”

“O-okay,” Steve breathed.

“Shh. It’ll be good. Do you believe me? Do you trust me?” Steve leaned back against Brock’s chest and, after a moment, nodded. “You don’t have to say ‘Hail Hydra’ this time. You have to say something else before we let you come.”

“Brock, please, _pleeease_ —“ the idea of coming now was suddenly the most important thing Steve could think of. He wanted it. He wanted it to hurt still, that was in the back of his mind, but the way the other two men were touching him made the bad start melting away.

“It’ll be easy, you just say what I tell you.”

“Ohh-okay?”

“Say that you’re good.”

Steve frowned before Bucky kissed the expression from his face; “I-I’m good?”

“Again, believe it.”

“But it’s—“

“Say it, babe.”

“I’m good.”

“Say that you’re sweet, you’re so sweet, babe.” Brock’s lips were on his neck, at that spot on his jaw that made him moan.

“I-I’m sweet?” He was shaking his head. That wasn’t right. That didn’t make sense. He whimpered, but the sound was swallowed by Bucky’s mouth on his. He looked between the two men sandwiching him in, eyes stinging. “Br-Brock wait, I can’t— that’s not—“

“Shh. You’re doing so good. Say you’re a good boy.”

 _“_ I’m a good boy,” Steve breathed into Bucky’s skin. “I don’t—“

“Shh. Good boy, Steve.” Steve pressed back into Brock as Bucky started stroking his cock faster. Steve was close, he was so close. “We’re almost there, babe.”

“Brock, please…”

“Say you’re perfect.”

“But I’m not,” Steve whispered. “Please, I can’t—“

“Say it.”

“Please, Brock.”

“Come on, babe. I want to hear your voice. I want to hear you say it.”

A sob tore itself from Steve’s throat. He was wrong. Brock was wrong. It felt like alarm bells were firing in his brain, at any moment something terrible would come crashing down on them. He could not focus, he could not think. “I can’t, Brock— I’m not—“

“Say it, Steve,” Bucky whispered, hand firm on his cock. “You’re perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Please, Brock, B-bucky…”

“Say it.”

His breath hitched. “I’m perfect.”

Bucky’s hand on his cock was faster, Brock was touching him everywhere, there were lips _everywhere_ and it felt so good and it was so much better. This was better.

“Say it again,” a voice in his ear whispered as he started falling apart, trembling. Everything felt so much, his skin was electric, his mind in a million distracting, overstimulating places.

“I’m perfect.”

“Again.”

“I’m perfect.”

“Again.”

Steve was crying in earnest now. He did not believe it; it hurt to say. He kept shaking his head as he quaked between the two men. “Brock, please. You’re—”

“You gonna say I’m wrong, Steve?” Steve hesitated and nodded. “What makes you so sure?”

That gave Steve pause. “What?”

“I always keep my promises, right babe?” Steve nodded again. “You gotta listen to me then, can you do that?” Another nod. “I promise I’m right. You’re perfect. You’re good. You’re so sweet. Say it, believe it.”

Steve’s eyes squeezed shut. The sensation around him was too much, Bucky and Brock both lavishing him with attention was too much. The words Brock was saying to him were far, far too much. This was better. From far away he knew he was letting go and that was terrifying, but he could not bring that thought to the front of his mind.

“Please, please,” he gasped.

“Say it. Come for us.”

“Say it, Steve.” Bucky whispered. And Steve never could say no to Bucky.

 _“I’m good._ ”

Steve came with a breathless gasp the moment the words left his mouth.

He almost believed them.

* * *

_“You’re so good, babe.”_

_“What?”_

_Brock did not answer, moving Steve to sit on the bed and pulling Steve’s shirt off before working on his own. He pushed Steve down on his back. Steve immediately reached to the bulge in Brock’s pants, licking his lips, pulling him by the hips, but Brock took his hands and pinned them on the bed. Then he did it again when Steve reached up to pull Brock down on top of him. “Settle, babe. Let me do this.”_

_“Brock, wh—“_

_Brock kissed him. It was different though. Steve felt exposed. Steve tried once more to reciprocate, to find his cock, make this worth his while, but again Brock stopped him._

_“Let me take care of you, babe,” he said into the skin of Steve’s neck. “You’re so good. You’ve been through so much.”_

_“W-wait.” Steve felt something unclench inside of him. He was terrified. He stared up at Brock as the other man ran a hand through his hair, looking down at him fondly, too fondly. His heart was pounding. “C-can I just suck you off? I shou—“_

_“You should calm down.”_

_“Brock, please— I don’t— what are you doing?”_

_“Relax, babe. I’m going to take care of you. You’ve got so much on your mind, let me carry it for a minute. Just for a minute.”_

_“I can’t.”_

_“You can. You just gotta let go.” Steve wondered at that. It sounded so easy when he said it like that, but the thought of it left Steve feeling empty, almost shaking on the bed underneath Brock. “Let go, babe.”_

_Steve shook his head, met Brock’s eyes. The last time he had let go he crashed a plane into the ocean. “I don’t know how.”_

_“What do you want?”_

_“I just— god, just let me be good for you. That’s what I’m suppo—“_

_“What do you want, Steve?”_

_“I want to be good for you,” he replied softly. “Please, I can’t—“_

_“You are already good, Steve. You’re so good.” Steve blinked up at him, face growing tight. “You don’t have to believe it, right now, babe. I know it’s hard.” He sighed, running his hand over Steve’s face, fingers wandering over his skin. “But I believe it. I know you’re good, you’re perfect.” Steve looked away. “What do you want right now? This is about you, babe.”_

_“I—“ he cleared his throat. “I suppose you won’t hit me again if I asked.”_

_“Anything but that. Remember what I told you before we started dating? The pain has to matter. You’ve had enough of the bad, how about I give you some of the good?” He smiled. “Think of me as restoring balance; restoring order. What do you want? What do you like?”_

_Steve was quiet for a long time, closing his eyes and letting Brock touch his face._

_“Babe?”_

_“Kiss me,” Steve finally whispered, acquiescing. “I like it when you kiss me.”_

_He could do this. This was just something else Brock wanted him to be. He could pretend. Every bond you buy is a bullet in your best guy’s gun… He met Brock’s eyes before turning away and letting the man come down and press his lips to Steve’s._

_“Good to know,” Brock whispered. Steve felt naked._

* * *

They brought him back to the bed, all but tucking him in, settling him comfortably between them. The sheets on his skin, the hands on his body; he was floating. He blinked up at the ceiling as Bucky kissed a stripe up his neck, murmuring in Russian with Rumlow. Steve wondered a little at what they were saying, but it was all sounding fuzzy in his mind.

“I’m good,” he whispered,the words floating above him, still not believing it entirely.

He had not meant to say it out loud. He started a little when Brock replied, “You are, babe. You’re so good.”

“Can you—“

“What, babe? What do you want?”

“Kiss me?”

Brock chuckled and pressed his lips to Steve’s. “You’re so good, babe,” he whispered softly when he finished. “So perfect.”

"You are," said Bucky into his ear, breath hot and wet against his skin. “You’re so good.”

That felt like forgiveness. That was something he did not even know he needed, but it almost felt like Bucky forgave him for this, for something, for everything, for not jumping after him. It should’ve been Steve dead and alive again and with a metal arm, he knew that.

“I love you,” he murmured. _I’m sorry._

“Good boy, babe. You’re so sweet,” Brock said in his other ear.

The fan spun lazy above his face and his eyes started tracking the spinning blades. He blinked and could not see them, he blinked again and things went dark, he blinked once more and he was gone. Lost, floating; _good_ , if for a little while longer as sleep took him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was SO LONG, AND SO HARD TO WRITE. GAHHHH. (the next chapter is proving super hard to write too so it may be a little longer until I get that one ready).
> 
> I hope you guys liked this. (Man, kind of sad, right? Poor steeb!) I'm not sure if it turned out as well as the first benzo chapter, but I don't think it's necessarily terrible (right? ehh). (The uncertainly is probably just because I've read it over so many times I'm going blind).
> 
> Anyway, I'm Betsy, feel free to yell at me on the following platforms.  
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.
> 
> Thank you all for reading and especially to everyone who has left me comments! They're all wonderful, and I very much appreciate it! I was so hesitant about posting this initially due to the subject matter, but I've just been blown away by the responses. Thank you, thank you! *blows kisses for ten thousand years*


	12. Chapter 12

The bed shook and Steve opened his eyes to see Bucky running to the kitchen sink, just barely making it in time to vomit into it. At the sight of it, the sound of it, Steve’s stomach lurched inside of him, and he rolled over and tried to get off the bed, he could not even push himself up. Rumlow brought the bucket over just in time, lying on his stomach, his head hanging off the bed as food and bile burned its way out of him.

Russian words floated over him. The bed dipped as someone sat down behind him and he started heaving once more at the movement. A hand pushed his hair back from his forehead as he hung limply off the side of the bed, trembling.

He could not move himself, and after a moment, when it seemed he had stopped throwing up, two pairs of hands were on his body, pulling him back onto the bed, laying him on his side. He tried to curl in on himself, into a tight ball so no one could see him, but he did not get very far. It was impossible to move, he felt like his limbs were weighted down and his body was not listening to his brain.

Bucky said something that sounded almost like a question. “Nah,” Rumlow replied. “He did this last time too. You react better to it. We need to get the techs to work out the right mix for him.”

“Is he enhanced?”

“Yes.”

Bucky hummed curious, and a metal hand ran down Steve’s back.

“Even more perfect, then.”

Steve shuddered and tried to curl in tighter once more. They spoke some more, Russian, meaningless sounds that spun in his head. He flinched when something was thrown over him, and finally opened his eyes to look and see Bucky tucking a blanket around his shoulders. Steve blinked at him for a little while, but the blanket, the exhaustion pulled him. Bucky curled up behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist. Steve put his head back down on the bed, closing his eyes and drifting away.

* * *

His head was burning, throbbing, screaming, just like before. He was certain he was whimpering, but he could not hear it. All there was around him was the pound of blood in his ears, and the feel of hands on his skin. He tried to shake them off, but could not manage, and every movement made his head hurt more.

“Stop it,” he moaned. “Please.”

“Stop what, babe?”

“Touching me. It hurts— god, it hurts.”

The hands did not leave, running comforting, terrible circles on his back, through his hair. He tried to push the hands away, he could not open his eyes, the light was too bright, the sounds around him too sharp.

“You’re still just coming down from the benzo, babe. You’re okay.”

Rumlow put a hand on his shoulder and he pulled away, curled in on himself even more with a heavy moan. “Don’t touch me, please stop touching me—“

“Babe, you need to calm down.”

“God, please don’t touch me. Leave me alone, just leave me alone…”

They did not though. In another world he might have thought they were trying to help, but he just needed them to stop touching him. Every sense in his body was burning acid-hot in his head; every touch on his skin was electric and painful.

Rumlow’s hands pulled him over and Steve snapped. “Leave me alone!” he screamed. “God, please just leave me alone!”

“Babe—“

“Stop it! Stop saying that! Stop! Don’t touch me, god please!”

Screaming did not keep his head from hurting even more. He was shaking violently now, flailing away from their hands, pushing them off his skin. He kicked out, his foot connecting with something solid, heard Bucky let out a grunt as he tore himself from the bed, crashing onto the ground. He could barely move. Even the feeling of the carpet on his skin was too much. He could not even breathe from the pain in his skull. He tried to pull himself away from them, but failed, collapsing into a painful heap barely a foot away from the bed. With nothing else to do he curled up in a ball on the floor, groaning, trembling, a sob in his throat.

“Shh. It’s okay, babe.”

Rumlow and Bucky knelt next to him on either side. He felt trapped, surrounded, and his head was throbbing, screaming under his skull. He held his head in his hands, pressing against his temples, trying to relieve some of the pain.

“Here,” Rumlow said. “Aspirin. You’ll feel fine in a little while.”

Hands opened his mouth, and put in the pills, tilting his head to pour some too cold water to wash them down with. The hands gently put his head back down on the ground when they were finished. He was covered in the thin blanket once more, crashing back down to sleep on the floor.

* * *

Steve woke up again, took a breath, remembering where he was and shut his eyes once more, blocking out the sight of Rumlow’s crossed legs in front of him, of the carpet his face was pressed against. Some foolish part of him thought that if he did not see anything, it would things stop existing; he would not be here, but somewhere else. His heart thudded in his chest, though, his mind spinning now that he was conscious once more. He did not want to know this. He wanted to go back to the way things were before.

_I’m good, I’m sweet, I’m a good boy, I’m perfect._

_I’m good._

The words kept running through his head and Steve thought he was going to vomit once more. He felt Bucky and Rumlow’s hands on him still, coaxing pleasure out of him. How he sobbed at the affirmations, how he felt each of their touches moving through him like perfect currents of water pulling him under and keeping him afloat all at once.

How he told them he loved them.

Bucky was pressed in behind Steve, seemingly asleep, his breathing soft and even against the back of Steve’s neck. Steve opened his eyes to see Brock sitting on the floor, leaning against the nightstand with his work tablet, tapping away. As if there was nothing odd about two super soldiers — because considering Bucky’s strength in their brief tussles before they took the benzo, that’s the only thing he could be; Steve thought of Zola and rescuing Bucky and how his wounds healed too quickly and felt sick all over again — lying naked on the floor. Steve would have started laughing if his head still was not throbbing; it did not hurt as badly as before, but the pain was still there.

“How’s your head?” Rumlow asked.

Steve met his eyes from the floor for a brief moment before looking away. He curled a little in on himself, and behind him Bucky shifted in his sleep, wrapping his arms around Steve more tightly, warm and steady against Steve’s back. Brock’s hand found its way into Steve’s hair, carding through it. Steve hated it, but the fingers on his scalp felt like a miracle, slowly easing away the remnants of tension and pain from his skull.

“Babe? It’s okay. You’re doing good.”

“Don’t,” Steve whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“Stop saying that. Just stop it. It’s—“

Rumlow put the tablet down with a soft clatter and slid down to lie on his side facing Steve. He pushed Steve’s hair back from his forehead while Steve could only stare at him. Bucky was still wrapped up against Steve’s back; if he weren’t there Steve would have moved, slid as far away from Rumlow as physically possible. Some quiet voice from a different time told him that Bucky needed to sleep more than Steve needed to be safe, needed to get away from this, needed to run. So instead, he forced himself to meet Rumlow’s eye. Rumlow’s hand rested on his head. Steve felt trapped once more, his breath hitching as he glared.

“Oh Stevie.” Rumlow’s face was soft. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, babe.”

“What?” _Are you fucking insane?_ Steve almost scoffed, but Rumlow was so close and Steve’s heart was beating too loud in his chest, indignant outrage mixing with confusion. Before everything had happened, Steve thought his reaction would be different; more feral, a little more fight in his response; there would be something self-righteous in him, something tinged with denial. But now he found he could do nothing but lie frozen frowning at Rumlow, exhausted and tense.

“You’re perfect. You’re going to be amazing when we’re done with you.”

“I don’t want to be amazing.” It came out as a whisper. Steve wished he hadn’t spoken at all. “I don’t want—“

“Babe. It’s happening.” Steve shook his head without thinking, and Rumlow leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s brow. “You’re so good, Steve. One day you’ll know.”

His hand moved over Steve. Steve could not move, trapped in Bucky’s arms, trapped in Rumlow’s stare as Rumlow’s hand wandered over his skin, lightly caressing him in all the places Rumlow knew he was most sensitive. Where his jaw turned into his neck behind his ear, the soft rise of his pectoral, his nipple, his waist, the bone of his hip until it finally ghosted over his cock.

“Brock, wait, don’t—“

“Shh. It’s okay, Steve.”

Steve bit his lip when Rumlow took a hold of him, started stroking him, hand moving maddeningly slow. Steve should stop this, Steve had to stop this, but he was frozen in place. All he could do was stare at Brock, breath hitching in his throat. He shouldn’t let this happen. He could fight, he should fight—

“Don’t think, babe. Just let this happen.”

Steve’s face grew tight, “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t, don’t, don’t—“

Brock pressed their lips together. Steve could not move, mouth opening with a soft gasp, eyes open in horror, paralyzed as Rumlow pressed flush against him, stroking his cock. He hated himself, but his tired body was responding to the touch, to the kiss. He was growing hard under Brock’s hand.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? This is the break, Steve, you’re allowed this.”

“Don’t— just leave me alone—“

“Shhh. You’re okay. You’re alright. Let me take care of you.”

The worst of it was that it almost felt like _before._ That might have been what threw Steve off the most. He was tired, his head was still aching, his dead best friend did not remember him, but none of that mattered. Steve was not strong enough to make this stop. Steve hated himself even more then, unable to separate the sensation of Rumlow’s hand on him now from Rumlow’s hand on him before.

His balls tightened between his legs. He was close.

“Almost there, babe.”

“Brock, please—“ _don’t._

“Almost there. We’ll do it together.”

“Brock—“

Steve was tired. He stared at Brock for a moment, feeling his body start to give in.

“Are you ready?” Steve nodded. “Say it, Steve.”

Steve was so tired.

_“Hail Hydra.”_

Rumlow did not even say it with him, but Steve did not care. He let his eyes close and a small breath, a small, unidentifiable sound fell from his lips as Rumlow stroked him to completion, his body tensing for a moment before sinking even more deeply into the floor where he lay when he finished. He felt the heat of Rumlow’s hand near his face; without thinking he opened his mouth, without thinking he licked the bitter come off of Rumlow’s fingers.

“You’re so good, Steve.” Rumlow kissed him again. Steve’s eyes were feeling heavy as he looked at the man for a little longer, but could not quite reach his gaze. Rumlow pulled the blanket up over his shoulder, and Bucky shifted behind him.

Throughout the whole thing, Bucky had never woken up.

Rumlow turned his face and their eyes met once more and Steve looked away, down to the floor. Steve closed his eyes, and without meaning to fell back into half-sleep. He was tired.

* * *

He was aware after a while of Bucky waking up behind him. He was speaking with Rumlow. The two of them got to their feet and left Steve on the floor, half asleep, exhausted, the blanket draped loosely around him. Steve thought now he could run, but he didn’t. He lay there. The blanket was just warm enough to stave off the slight breeze from the fan. His body felt heavy.

He was tired.

He curled in on himself instinctively, flinching away but not far enough when Rumlow knelt down in front of him.

“What do you want to do now?” He asked Steve.

Steve frowned into the floor. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s your break, Steve. What do you want to do? We could go a few more rounds in the sack, we can eat something. What do you want?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. He stared at Rumlow’s boot in front of his face. 

“I want you to leave me alone,” Steve finally said, not expecting anything to come from it.

Rumlow pushed his head up and their eyes met. Steve tried hold eye contact but it was hard. His face flushed red, his eyes wanted to dart. It felt like there was a secret between him and Rumlow now; what he had let Rumlow do while Bucky slept. He had said the words, he had not fought it. The shame was eating away at him, gnawing inside of him. He was so tired.

“Okay, babe,” Rumlow said softly. “A little alone time won’t hurt.”

Steve blinked, shocked, and sat up to look at the two men properly. Rumlow called out in Russian and Bucky reached around the bed and tossed him the ankle cuff, attached to the long chain. Rumlow bent down and took Steve’s ankle and opened the cuff, bringing it to his leg. In his hand was a small black box. Steve stared at it and back up at Rumlow then back at the box. Rumlow saw what he was looking at and opened his hand to show Steve after he had attached the cuff. It was just a black box, with a blinking light that matched the one on the cuff, no bigger than a cigarette lighter. Save for the light, there was seemingly nothing on it; no marks, no grooves.

“It’s the key to the cuffs,” Rumlow said easily. “I’m the only one who can open them though. It’s all fingerprints and biometrics. Go ahead. Try it.” Steve reached out to take the key from Rumlow.

Steve ran the small box over the cuff on his ankle the way he had seen Rumlow do. Nothing happened. He tried once more, twice more, but there was no change. Rumlow took the key back, pressed his thumb on one of the sides and ran it over the cuff. It unlocked, opening and clattering down to the floor. Steve scoffed and looked away.

“You don’t really need the cuff anyway. That’s what we’ve got the soldier for. But since you’re gonna be alone — no soldier — it’s just a little reassurance.”

“I could cut off your hands,” replied Steve. “Then I could unlock the cuffs.”

“You could try. It won’t work. Dead fingers don’t read on the cuff.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Knowledge is power.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” Steve replied without thinking. He was so tired.

“You have no idea, babe,” Rumlow said, reaching up to stroke his cheek.“I’m kind of getting an idea.”

Rumlow leaned in and kissed him. Steve did not even have it in him to fight back.

Steve looked away, back to the ground as Rumlow reattached the cuff to his ankle and stood up, leaving Steve where he sat on the apartment floor, running his hand through Steve’s hair one more time. Without a word he walked across the apartment, Bucky following and opened the door and the two of them left. Bucky spared one last glance over at Steve. Their eyes met for a brief flash before there was nothing.

Steve was alone in the apartment.

* * *

After a moment he stood up. Tentatively he rolled his foot in the cuff, looking down. There were some bruises there too, he realized absently. Part of his mind tried to justify it; the bruises meant he fought against the shackles. But that was not the case, was it? He had not fought hard enough. There was the proof right there on his skin. He had not ripped his arms off, his legs off. He had not done enough. He had not been good enough.

He looked around the apartment. Now that he was alone he took the time to really study it, planning, thinking. It was the same. It was the exact same as it had always been, wasn’t it? He had loved this apartment. Not so much anymore. Steve almost wondered why it felt so different, but he knew.

It was mostly the fact that the room was now a prison. That changed things.

“Focus,” he whispered to himself. He could barely look at the bed. His eyes darted to the couch, the door Rumlow and Bucky had stepped out from, the bathroom, the kitchen—

The kitchen. Steve strode over as far as he could. When he felt the pull of the cuff he was just past the fridge, almost entirely inside the tiny kitchen, and he was so happy then that Rumlow lived in such a small apartment. He opened the drawers he could reach and found what he was looking for. A knife. A large, sharp chef’s knife. He took it by the handle and frantically looked around the room, just in case. He was alone, but he still felt as though eyes were on him. He hated the itch of panic under his skin. He knew it was just chemicals burning through his system, both given to him by Rumlow and produced by his own brain, adrenaline mostly, he reasoned.

He moved as much around the apartment as he could. There was no place he could really go. He figured tactically the best place was the corner he kept finding himself in. Maybe that was why he scrambled there when the hallucinogenic was fucking with his head. Or maybe because the corner was at least protection on two sides. Protection from the hands, from the dark shape in the corner, from Rumlow.

From Bucky.

Steve shuddered. His stomach grumbled so he made his way back to the fridge, trying to clear his mind. He opened it and bent down to peer inside for something quick to eat. Protein bars; Chocolate Almond Fudge, his favorite flavor. There were zucchini fries from his favorite pizza place. Rumlow even had the brand of orange juice that he liked, even though Brock thought it tasted strange.

There was leftover oatmeal from before in a tupperware jar. Steve stared at it before turning and looking at the high counter with the stools were he and Bucky had been eating it before. Where he had eaten dozens of times before. He looked around the apartment, running a hand through his hair, struggling to keep his breathing calm. He gripped the knife handle tightly in his hand, knuckles turning white.

He thought about Natasha. Natasha who teased him about using a shield instead of a ‘real weapon.’ How he used his shield as a weapon. He would always argue back that it worked, _it worked just fine._ She would snort; she had a collection of pictures on her phone of him ‘doing the turtle’ when he was under heavy fire and would curl up completely behind the shield.

He had thought it was funny then.

Even now he flexed the fingers of his left hand, as if he were gripping the handle on the inside of the shield. As if it could still protect him.

After grabbing one of the protein bars, he stepped back to the corner, sparring one last glance around the apartment before sitting down. He tore the wrapper of the bar open and wolfed it down.

There was no telling how long they would be gone. He stared at the door. He did not know what else to do. He held the knife in front of him, and waited for Rumlow and Bucky to come back.

* * *

He woke up on his side, curled in on him self with his back against the wall with gentle fingers taking the knife out of his limp hand.

“N-no, no, no, no don’t!” He squeezed the knife handle tight and pressed back against the wall. There was Rumlow and Bucky kneeling over him.

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. We’re just gonna move you back to the bed. Let me have the knife, we don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What did you do to me?” Steve asked sitting up, pressing back into the corner.

Rumlow blinked with a frown. “What?”

“Did you drug the food? Or-or — _fuck_ — the air ducts? What did you—“

“What are you talking about?”

“You sedated me again!”

Rumlow smiled and stroked his face; Steve flinched back as far as he could against the wall, eyes darting between Rumlow and Bucky. “You fell asleep again, Steve.”

It was Steve’s turn to blink. “What?”

“I’m surprised it took this long. You’ve been through a lot, you needed a break. We’re just going to move you to the bed so you can sleep a little better, that’s all. We won’t bother you for a little while. You wanted to be left alone, remember?”

“What are you doing?” The knife was still in his hand, but Rumlow’s fingers were wrapped around his fist.

“This is a break still, Steve. I just want you to sleep a little more before we move onto the next step.”

Steve stared at the two men. “I’ll stay here.”

“Steve—“ Rumlow reached with his other hand for the knife. A whimper fell from Steve’s mouth as he pushed back into the corner, bringing the knife up. Rumlow paused at the sound, eyebrows raising, and Steve tried to meet his eye but couldn’t, looking down at the floor after a moment.

Rumlow inched closer to him, and Steve lifted the knife, touching the point to Rumlow’s chest. Rumlow smiled once more and kept moving closer and closer to Steve’s face.

“Stop, I’ll do it. Rumlow, don’t—“

“You know what’ll happen if you hurt me, Steve.”

His eyes darted between Rumlow, right in his face, and Bucky, less than a foot away. Rumlow stroked his cheek. Bucky stared at them intently. No, he stared at the knife, the tip of it touching Rumlow just barely on the chest. He was waiting for Steve to hurt Rumlow. Then everything would be over.

Rumlow wrapped his hand around Steve’s on the knife handle. He pressed his lips to Steve’s.

“Let’s get you to bed, babe. You’re exhausted.”

“I’ll do it. Rumlow, I’ll—“

“It’s okay, babe. It’s alright.”

Steve let him take the knife away.

He watched as Rumlow handed the kitchen knife to Bucky who walked it back to its drawer. When he returned two men stood over him. He was bigger than them, he was bigger than both of them. This knowledge did not stop him from curling up even tighter into the corner, staring up at them. He had started trembling again. He hated it. It felt like his body was betraying him. He could not even keep himself still.

They spoke in Russian once more, meaningless sounds above him. Then Bucky knelt down in front of him. He reached out and stroked Steve on the cheek with his cold, metal hand.

“Come on, Steve. You’ll feel better on the bed.”

“I—I’ll stay here,” he said again. He could barely look Bucky in the eye, and he could barely look away.

“Stevie…” Steve swallowed, his head shaking minutely as he gaped at Bucky. Sometimes when Bucky spoke now, Steve could hear the tinge of Russian on his words. _Stevie_ was something different though. It sounded like the 1930’s. Steve could only stare at him now.

His hand was growing warm on Steve’s face, sucking the heat from his skin. Steve was tired. He leaned into the touch for a moment, eyes closing. Without breaking contact, Bucky’s hand slid down Steve’s arm and took him by the hand. Steve let himself be pulled to standing and walked towards the bed. He wrapped his arms around his middle, glancing at Rumlow before turning away and crawling into the bed as Bucky pushed him along. 

He watched as Bucky and Rumlow walked into the kitchen, speaking softly, Rumlow picking up his work tablet from the ground as he went by. Bucky opened the fridge and took out something to eat while Rumlow sat on the couch. For all intents and purposes it looked like they weren’t going to bother him.

Steve pulled the blanket over him, up to his neck, curling once more into a ball. He fell asleep. He was so tired.

* * *

_“Why do you always say that?” Steve asked._

_“What?”_

_“‘Good to know.’ You’re always saying it.”_

_“Just in the habit I guess. Some people just say things.”_

_Steve hummed._

_“Knowledge is power, or some shit.”_

_“And ignorance is bliss.”_

_“Hmm. You have no idea, babe.”_

_Steve scrunched his face up, nuzzling up to Brock’s cheek as they lay in bed, “Good to know.”_

_Brock laughed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, this chapter took way too long to finish, and I'm so effing glad it's done! UGH UGH UGH. Steve's so tired, I'm so tired.
> 
> But anyway, I've been wanting to get this chapter done, because the next three/four-ish chapters are ones that I'm super proud of, and there's super intense smut, and I cannot wait to finish editing them for you guys, because they're kind of my favorite chapters right now!
> 
> Anyway, I'm Betsy, and I'm made of sugar and spice and angst! Feel free to yell at me on the following platforms;  
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	13. Chapter 13

Steve stood up quietly from the bed as he watched Bucky and Rumlow in the kitchen, speaking quietly in Russian. His stomach churned still from the drugs, but he was able to move on his own. The two men were distracted, looking at the food in the fridge. They did not notice him.

They had removed the ankle cuff at some point when he had been sleeping. That frightened him more than he wanted to admit. That he had been so tired that he had not noticed that happening, had not woken up.

His eyes fell to the briefcase with the Leeches, with the Tentacle. His heart pounded wildly in his chest. He could not do that again. He knew he would not last it. Even without the shock of finding out Bucky was alive, now that he knew the pain of the Leeches, there was nothing he would not do to avoid them. He could not do it; not the Leeches and certainly not the Tentacle. More importantly knew deep down that he could not let that happen, because he would not survive it. 

He spared one more quick glance at Rumlow and Bucky, before striding across the small apartment and reaching for the handle of the door. He should be able to just open it; that’s why they had cuffed him before. He would fling the door open and run, naked as the day he was born, to his bike. It was still parked outside of Rumlow’s apartment. He could hot-wire the bike; it wouldn’t be the first time he had to do it when he lost his keys, and he would drive as far as he could. He would find Natasha and they would go back and free Bucky and then they would just run. He would keep running until his feet bled and his legs gave out. He would run so far that no one would find them. He would just runaway and disappear. He’d jump back into the Arctic if it meant not going back.

* * *

_“I don’t know. Some days I think it’d be nice to be normal. Not a super soldier. I wish I could be normal again.”_

_“Would you be small too?”_

_“Maybe. But looking like this isn’t too heavy a burden,” Steve replied trying to smile. “But I mean, I could be normal and look like this, couldn’t I? I mean, just a person. I just want to be a person.”_

_“You’re a person, babe.”_

_“Not a real one.”_

_Tony Stark’s words echoed in his mind; ‘Everything special about you came out of a bottle.’ It had stung because it was true. Steve had known it down in his bones from the moment he stepped out of Howard Stark’s Vitaray machine. He was biting his lip when Brock reached over and tapped him on the nose, startling him from his thoughts._

_“You’re brooding.”_

_“I’m just thinking.”_

_“Sure. I’ll believe that.” Brock got up on his elbow and peered down at Steve on the bed. “Man, Steve. I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy as fucked up as you are.”_

_“Gee, thanks.”_

_Brock kissed him, a laugh on his lips. “They fucked you up so bad, babe. I’m not sure there’s any of you left.” Steve did frown up at him then, brow furrowing, a huff of air leaving his mouth. “I’m gonna fix you. You’re a real person. I’m gonna make sure you know that before we’re done. You’re gonna be a god, even.”_

_“A god?”_

_“Or at least with purpose again, you know? A sense of order.”_

_“Would you even like me if I was normal?” Steve countered. “You get off on watching me fight. I’ve seen it.”_

_“I get off watching you play games on my phone waiting outside of Fury’s office, babe. You. Not Captain America.”_

_Steve tried to give him a small smile, knowing it didn’t meet his eyes, before turning away, glancing up at the ceiling fan spinning above them. “But you know what I mean, right?” he asked softly. “I’d like to be normal again one day. Real.”_

_“I know. It’s good to know.” Brock said. He kissed him again. “We’ll work on it.”_

* * *

The door was locked. He stared at it, turning the handle so hard it should be breaking under his fingers, but it would not budge. It was an apartment door, why in god’s name was it locked from the outside? He shook the knob as hard as he could but it would not budge. Without thinking he slammed his fist against the door with a loud bang.

He flinched with a yelp when a hand touched his shoulder, turning and violently shoving the body behind him, Rumlow’s body, down to the floor. Rumlow crashed down and Steve was about to turn back to the door and keep trying when Bucky slammed into him, grabbing him by the back of the neck, spinning him around and pinning him to the door behind him. With his other hand he grabbed Steve by the hair at the top of his skull and started slamming his head back into the door. Steve saw stars, blinking and scrambling against the man holding him down. He swung out wide, and Bucky caught his arm, twisted him around and threw him down onto the ground with a crash.

He followed Steve down, grabbing him again by the neck and started squeezing, raising his metal hand into a fist above Steve’s head. There was none of the life in his face anymore. He was terrifying, dead behind the eyes. Steve almost screamed again, a flash of certainty that Bucky’s skin would start melting, his arm would turn into the bleeding stump once more. But this was worse, much worse than the corpse from the hallucinogenic. He looked like Bucky, eyes sniper sharp, still.Steve was screaming then, clawing at his arm, trying to pull it from his neck, squeezing his eyes shut as Bucky’s fist swung towards him—

“Hold, Soldier.”

The punch never came. Bucky’s hand grew loose on his neck and Steve scrambled away, feet slipping on the floor, skin getting rubbed raw by the carpet against his shoulders, his back. He pressed into the first thing he came in contact with — the back of the couch — as Bucky and Rumlow stood over him. He wiped frantically at his wet eyes, staring up at Bucky, terrified.

“You shouldn’t’ve done that,” Rumlow said calmly. “I thought you were ready to keep going, but I think we’re going to have to do a little more work on you.”

“Go fuck yourself, Rumlow,” Steve said, eyes darting between Bucky and the door, Bucky and the door, _Bucky_ and _the door._  

“So fucking scared. Even after everything we’ve done so far. All the time, Steve. Isn’t it exhausting? You don’t have to be brave for me, you know? You can give up your fear. Let it go.”

Steve did not know how to respond to that. He brought himself to his feet, glaring at Rumlow before turning to glance at the door once again, confused, shocked. Rumlow grabbed him roughly by the chin, jerking his head back.

“I don’t want to make your life a living hell, Steve.”

“C-coulda fooled me.”

“Babe—“

“Stop calling me that!”

Rumlow jerked his head over sharply. “We need you to be good, Steve. And right now I don’t think you’re going to be good, so we’re going to break you down again.”

“What?” _What?_

“We’re going to break you down again,” he repeated, as if that explained everything.

Steve didn’t know what that meant, but he shoved Rumlow’s hand away violently ready to lash out when Bucky grabbed his wrist with his metal hand. He winced when Bucky squeezed hard on the bruises. Rumlow muttered in Russian and Bucky pulled out the knife again, reminding Steve what was at stake.

He looked again at the door. Rumlow snapped his fingers in front of Steve’s face but he did not pull his eyes from the door.

“Babe? Focus.” Steve did not respond. He could not take his eyes away from the door. “Babe—“

“Brock,” he whispered, breath catching. “I couldn’t open the door. I couldn’t—“ He stared down at his hands; one wrist still in Bucky’s grip the other hand starting to shake. “Did you— the drugs— did you do something to me?”

“Babe—“

“Did you do something to me?!”

“Come on, let’s—“

“I couldn’t open the door!” Brock tried to turn Steve’s head back to him, but Steve squirmed away from him and Bucky, and moved back to the door, trying the handle again. He jerked the door violently, a scream building up in his throat. “I can’t open it! I can’t— why can’t I— what did you do?!”

“Babe. It’s like the cuffs. You’re not meant to open the door right now.”

“What did you do to me!?” he screamed

“Nothing, you’re still the same—”

“I can’t open the door! I can’t—“

He could not catch his breath, he could not fight down the new wave of panic in his core. He threw his fists against the door, over and over, screaming, frantic, uncontrollable. There was a flash of silver, then a flash of pain. Bucky took him by the wrist once more and twisted his arm, flinging him to the ground. Steve almost thought his wrist was broken from the way it ached. He pushed himself away from Rumlow and Bucky, hyperventilating, staring at his hands. Were they even his hands anymore? There were still bruises, was he not healing? or were the bruises just that deep?

Was the serum gone?

He flung himself at the door once again, fighting around Bucky’s arms as they wrapped around his waist. He was scratching, clawing at the door, at the metal arm around him, at the doorknob, sharp Russian orders floating over his head.

Bucky spun him around, slammed his back against the door and struck him hard across the face with his metal hand.

The pain of it shook Steve, pulling him from his panic. He pulled in a shaky breath, eyes darting between Rumlow and Bucky as his heart hammered in his ribs. He turned and looked at the doorknob and a metal hand closed around his chin pulling him back.

“Do not look. It does not matter,” Bucky said.

Rumlow leaned in close to his body next to Bucky. “You’re not meant to open the door right now. The serum is still there. I didn’t do anything to you. This is how it’s meant to be.”

“‘Meant to be’?”

“Hydra decides when you’re ready to go, when you get to open a door or not. You don’t have to think about it anymore.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Bucky repeated. Their eyes met. Steve took in a shuddering breath. Bucky looked scared. Steve finally dropped his gaze.

The two of them started speaking in Russian and Steve squeezed his eyes closed and let his head fall back against the door behind him, pulling in wet, gasping breaths. A hand on his elbow pulled him away from the door and walked him to the bed again.

“No, please, Bucky, please—“ He looked back towards the door, but Bucky grabbed his face.

“Do not look. _It does not matter_ ,” he said again. “You must not look.”

Bucky turned him around and sat him on the bed. He did not move to attach the cuffs. Steve did not know whether or not that filled him with hope or with dread. He glanced once more at the door, but Bucky clicked his tongue and pushed Steve’s head away with a finger.

“Stop it!” he snapped up at Bucky.

“I thought you were going to be good,” Bucky said. It threw Steve for a moment.

“You thought wrong.” _I’ve never been good._ “Bucky,” he whispered, desperate. “Did he do something to me? Bucky, please—”

Bucky regarded him carefully, face neutral before turning away and walking towards a bag that was set near the dresser that Steve had not noticed before. He looked almost disappointed and Steve hated the way the guilt pulled at him. He thought for a moment he should be good for Bucky. It didn’t make sense. Bucky pulled out long, thick coils of red rope, setting them on the floor. Dread, then.

He stared at his wrists while the others moved around him, talking in Russian all the while. The bruises looked worse, marring his skin, splotchy and black and purple up towards his elbows, down almost near his knuckles. It was almost novel. His skin did not bruise, yet here he was, staring at his trembling hands as the colors of his skin shifted from his usual peach, to green-yellow, to black and blue to purple and red and back up his arms to peach again. Was he not healing? Or were they just hurt that badly?

* * *

_“I wish you kept hickies longer, babe.”_

_“Yeah, me too. I kinda like them.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah, they’re the best. But I like bruises too. You always leave some on my hips with your fingers when we go a little rough.”_

_“You like that?”_

_“Yeah. Why do you think I’m always getting up after we do anything to go to the bathroom? I’m looking at them in the mirror before they’re gone. I’d take pictures if I wasn’t scared of it going into the cloud thing. I’d spend hours in the bathroom just staring until they were gone if I didn’t want go to sleep.”_

_Brock chuckled, moving his lips down Steve’s jaw and neck, moving towards his chest. He scraped his teeth on Steve’s skin. “Want something new to stare at?”_

_“Mmm, yeah.” He said with a chuckle, but it dissolved into a moan as Brock started sucking a new mark onto his skin. “Yeah… yes…”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve watched as Bucky started unwinding the coils of rope and Rumlow went to the dresser and pulled out the supplies. The bullet vibe, the cooling lube, the gag, the box with the sounding rods, the blindfold, the nipple clamps. Steve swallowed and stared at the two of them, eyes darting between them. Then Rumlow pulled out another anal plug, bigger than the last one, enough so that Steve had the fleeting thought that maybe it would not fit. Then he put something down that looked a little like a hot glue gun, Steve had never seen anything like it, but knew it would not be pleasant. Would Rumlow burn something into his skin? It couldn’t hurt any more than the Leeches had.

Bucky made him slide back into the middle of the bed and pushed him onto his back. Steve craned his head to watch, leaning on his elbows, shivering at the cold touch of the metal hand on his calf, bending his knee back, pushing his ankle into his thigh. The rope wrapped around his leg, pinning his heel nearly to his rear.

“Try and pull your leg out.” Bucky ordered.

Steve tried unsuccessfully. Looking down at it, Steve saw that it was not just regular rope, probably enhanced to make up for Steve’s strength — if it was still even there? would Rumlow go so far as to make him powerless and try to convince him otherwise by using ropes built to hold super soldiers? — there was something metallic coiled inside of it. His leg was tight in the rope. Bucky was able to put one finger between the rope and his skin but that was it. Then Bucky did the same thing to his other leg, ordering him to test it, making sure there was room for just a single finger.

He pulled Steve awkwardly up onto his knees, having him kneel on the bed. Bucky then proceeded to wrap the rope around Steve’s middle, his chest, pushing his arms back and wrapping them gently in the rope before bringing the rope back around and adding more knots to his torso.

Rumlow said something in Russian and Bucky replied, looking confused.

“Do as I say, soldier,” Rumlow said softly.

He loosened the ropes on Steve’s arms before wrapping them in a different way. It was tight around his forearms, he could feel the bones shifting in his wrists, pressing firmly against the bruises. Then Bucky brought the rope up to Steve’s neck, wrapping it around his throat twice, just barely tight enough that Steve could feel his airway becoming constricted.

“Pull on your arms,” Rumlow ordered.

Steve pulled his arms gingerly and felt the rope grow tighter around his neck. He forced down a new bubble of panic that was rising in his chest, trying desperately to steady his breathing. His legs were trapped, his body constricted. The only movement available to him was from the barely there slack at his arms which pulled at his neck. He tried to meet Rumlow’s gaze but could not hold it when the other man smiled at him.

“You look gorgeous like this, babe. You have no idea.”

Steve did not respond save to look away, down at the sheets on the bed and wait, trying not to see the red lines of rope stretched across his body. He was shaking again, breath unsteady in his chest, but the ropes almost held him still.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, babe. I told you about this, remember? Ropes? I’ve been wanting to do this with you for ages. You look beautiful. God, I’d keep you like this forever if I could. We’ll do this all the time when this is done.”

Brock cupped his head gently and kissed him, soft, almost reverent. Then he stood back and for a moment he simply stared at Steve, taking him in. Steve felt exposed. A deep flush rose on his face, bleeding down to his chest. Sure, Rumlow had looked at Steve before, naked and clothed, but it was never like this. He had never been on display like this before. Part of him knew that in any other world he might actually like this, like the way his boyfriend — _ex-boyfriend_ now, he corrected in his mind, because there were some things you didn’t really come back from — was looking at him, and him incapable of controlling the situation. 

He wriggled a little in the ropes, feeling how tight they were, how helpless he was and turned away, closing his eyes for a moment. When he steeled himself, opening them again, Rumlow was putting something in his pocket. He then pulled Bucky towards him and started murmuring in Russian once again. Then, to Steve’s shock, cupped Bucky’s head too, and kissed him as well. Bucky leaned into it, and all Steve could do was stare, jaw falling open.

In any other world, Steve might have liked seeing that.

Part of him really liked seeing that. A pool of warmth filled his core as he stared. It was unreal.

Then it was over; the two men crawled onto the bed on either side of Steve. Bucky started running his teeth along Steve’s neck while Brock started shuffling things around on the bed. Bucky’s hands on his skin, and the way he was trapped was enough to start him shaking in earnest again. He pulled his head away as best he could.

His eyes fell on the door once again. The door could open, he knew that. If it was like the cuffs, the issue was getting Rumlow to open the door. He thought he could work with that.

Bucky clicked his tongue, turning Steve’s face away. He murmured something in Russian, and then took off his shirt before going back to sucking on Steve’s skin, a small moan falling from his lips. Steve stared. Not at the naked skin of Bucky’s chest, but the scaring he could see along his left arm and moving down his back. It was horrifying; how badly had those scars hurt to get? He bit his lip and shut his eyes to block out the sight of it. Bucky licked over his mouth, hot and wet, and touched him everywhere, fingers ghosting around and under the ropes, over his sensitive skin.

He gasped at the feel of the cooling lube on his cock once more, jerking away instinctively which in turn pulled the rope around his neck tight. He gasped once more straining for air, biting his lip and holding back a whine. Rumlow opened the box with the sounding rod and Steve saw him take out the third one, just slightly thicker than the ones he had been using before. Steve shook his head watching as Rumlow covered it in lube and brought it to his cock, a small, quiet _“No,”_ dropped from his mouth, but it did not stop Rumlow. Bucky ran a hand along his face, and as Rumlow slowly pushed in the too thick rod, Steve squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face against Bucky’s wrist, breath coming fast in his throat, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

“Good boy,” Rumlow murmured when he finished, when the sounding rod was all the way in. “Doing good, babe. This is the thicker one too, you took it real well.”

Steve tried not to roll his eyes. Rumlow reached up to pat his cheek, and Steve flinched away, which, again, pulled on the rope at his neck. He gasped and tried to move his arms so it would loosen around his neck while Rumlow and Bucky murmured next to him. A strained sound came from him when the two men touched him, rubbing his skin comfortingly along the ropes, whispering nothings in his ear that he could not even hear, mouthing at his lips, his chest, his neck. He stared at the bed in front of him, face tight, breath shaky. 

Bucky and Rumlow lowered him down onto the bed, his arms pressing uncomfortably into his back, pulling the rope just a little tighter around his neck. Bucky sat near his shoulders and pulled Steve’s knees towards his chest. He blinked when Bucky pulled out another piece of rope. He wrapped it in the crook of Steve’s knee and tied it to the ropes around his chest. Then he did the same with the other leg. Steve was truly stuck then. He wriggled a little but there was no escaping it now. He was completely helpless.

Rumlow’s hand found its way between his legs.

“Wait,” Steve whispered. “Stop—“

“It’s alright, Steve. Shh… you’re alright. I told you, we gotta break you down a little more. ”

Steve dropped his head onto the pillow with a wet sigh. Rumlow slowly started fingering him, pressing the cold lube into his body, making Steve shudder. With his legs tied like this he was completely exposed, feeling even more naked than before. He turned away from Rumlow, from Bucky and stared at the wall, face hot, heart pounding. Rumlow was careful this time, working slowly stretching him thoroughly, brushing against his prostate occasionally, finally managing to work in three fingers into Steve before he brought up the plug.

It was too big. Steve winced, a whine in his throat as Rumlow slowly worked it into him. It was too big. Steve almost begged for him to stop, but kept his mouth shut. The weight of it inside of him as Rumlow finally pushed it to its base, and the fill of it, was obscene, heavy, uncomfortable. It pushed the air out from his lungs for a moment. His mouth hung open as he tried to get used to it, but it was just too big. He thought it was going to break him in half. Rumlow leaned up and ran his hand over Steve’s brow, brushing through his hair, leaving a small trail of the cold lube on his forehead.

He taped the bullet vibe onto Steve’s cock. He attached the nipple clamps. Steve let out a low hiss as they pinched his skin. He knew if he ever got out of this he may never be able to enjoy that part of his body again. He may never be able to enjoy anything again.

Rumlow cupped his chin and held the metal ball gag in front of his mouth. Steve’s head was shaking.

“You don’t have to do this. I’ll be good,” he said, he _confessed_. This was getting to be too much. He thought he might be able to push through it, but he did not want to.

“No, you won’t. You’re thinking about running away even now.”

Rumlow was not wrong; “Wouldn’t you?”

“I think this’ll do the trick, babe. You’ll be good after this.”

“I’ll be good now,” Steve said softly. He hated himself but he had to try. “Please.”

Rumlow leaned down and kissed him. “You’ll be good after this. I can feel it.” Rumlow tapped the metal ball against his lips.

“Please, Brock. Don’t do this.”

Rumlow shook his head. Steve gave him a withering look before opening his mouth, tasting the self loathing in his mouth more bitter than bile, than the metal ball of the gag. Rumlow pressed the gag in and buckled it. Still too heavy, too hard. With the rope around his neck it was a wonder he could breathe at all.

Rumlow pulled up the small plastic device that looked like a glue gun. Steve’s brow furrowed at it, pulling his head away as much as he could as Rumlow brought it to his face. A small whimper sounded from around the gag. Rumlow gave him a small smile, hand back in Steve’s hair. He pushed Steve’s head to the side, holding it firmly and brought the device to his ear.

There was a small beeping noise and then suddenly a pressure in his ear. Steve flinched, yelping behind the gag, pulling the rope at his neck taut, shaking his head trying to get rid of whatever Rumlow had put in him but he couldn’t. No sound came in, he could not hear out of that ear. 

With help from Bucky, Rumlow pressed Steve’s head to the other side as he thrashed trying in the ropes to get away. He was screaming now. This was not what he expected, this was too much. The device came towards his face and he could not pull away. The last thing he heard was the beeping. And then nothing.

No, not nothing.

He could hear his blood rushing inside of his body, he could hear the screams vibrating the bones in his jaw, his skull, but he could not hear any sound outside of himself. He looked up in horror at Bucky and Rumlow, and saw they were speaking to each other but he could not hear it at all. Their lips were moving. They were less than a foot away from his face and he could not hear them. He did not know what he had been expecting but it was not this.

He pulled away sharply as far as the ropes would let him when Rumlow brought the blindfold to his face, crying, shaking his head. Bucky held his head still and Rumlow tied the blindfold on.

His whole body was trembling violently. There was only feeling. No sight, no sounds. He could not do this. Not like this. It was too much.

* * *

_“One day our days off will match up, then I’ll take care of you,” Brock said as he pressed Steve against his truck. It was warm everywhere Brock was and chilly everywhere the cool night air touched his skin. It was all Steve could do not to pull himself completely flush with the other man, for the body heat alone; the physical touch was just a bonus._

_“Take care of me?” he asked with a smirk._

_“Just a seventy-two hour sex marathon.” Steve burst out laughing at that. “I may be old, but I bet I can come up with a few good ways to make you scream.”_

_“Oh yeah?”_

_“Kiss me.” Steve grinned and pressed his lips to Brock’s, opening his mouth to let the other man in._

_After a moment he asked, “Not gonna tell me how you’re going to make me scream?” He pressed his hips against Brock’s, half hard in his pants already. “Someone down there kinda wants to hear.”_

_“I’m leaving it to the imagination.”_

_“That requires my brain to work, and let me tell you that’s really not where the blood is going right now.” Brock laughed and patted his pocket for his keys, turning to the door of the truck. “Come on, Brock. I want to scream,” he whispered low in Brock’s ear. He took Brock’s earlobe in his mouth, nibbling at it lightly. “I want you to make me scream.”_

_Brock hummed, reaching around behind him and running a hand down Steve’s thigh._

_“Come on, I wish you’d make me scream, Brock. I want it. Bad…”_

_Brock laughed once more, “This is a nice neighborhood, they probably don’t want to hear you screaming here.”_

_He groped Brock’s hips, his stomach, pressing even closer to him. “Does it seem like I fucking care?”_

_“If you can be good, and get to my place without busting a nut, I’ll make you scream all night.”_

_“That a promise?”_

_“A guarantee.” He smiled and turned back around, pressing Steve’s hair up off his forehead. “Can you be good? Can you wait for me to get you home?”_

_Steve moaned and pressed his face into Brock’s hand. After a moment he finally forced himself to nod._

_“Good to know. Let’s get out of here.”_

_Steve stumbled and nearly face-planted rushing to the other side of the truck and jumping in, giggling as Brock howled at the sight._

* * *

He screamed when Rumlow turned on the bullet vibe. Instinctively he jerked away which pulled at the rope on his neck once more. A flood of terror filled him as he could not breathe, as he writhed on the bed, blind and deaf and frantic, sensation pooling in his core. He knew he should calm himself down, he should try and steady his breathing, make himself ride this out but he couldn’t. He was sobbing and thrashing and choking behind the gag, the blindfold. He could not stop screaming, begging wordlessly around the gag.

He felt the bed shift underneath him, and suddenly he was alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering how badly I hurt Steve, no one would ever guess that he's my favorite character... whoops.
> 
> Anyway, I'm Betsy, and I'm made of sugar and spice and angst! Feel free to yell at me on the following platforms;  
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	14. Chapter 14

Time passed in a strange way then. Neither fast nor slow. He stopped screaming at some point. He thought perhaps he had passed out from the lack of oxygen, but he could not be sure. All he knew was at one moment he was screaming, and then a blink, maybe two, behind the blindfold and he was not.

He was scared he would start vomiting behind the gag, from fear, from the nausea caused by the cold lube, from the lack of oxygen. He almost wanted to. He could choke on it, suffocate and die and have this be over, he needed it over, it was too much, too much, _too much._ His moaning echoed through his skull, the blindfold was wet against his eyes. He could not stop twitching, writhing, trembling.

* * *

_A voice was talking to him from far, far away but he could not hear it. All he could see was vague shapes moving around him. It was blind panic. He was dying._

_Steve was shaking. He knew he was shaking. He knew he was dying. The vat of mystery gel had been ice cold. He had barely been able to heave himself out of it and flop down on the metal floor of the power plant in Namibia. He kept clawing at his face, trying to clear his mouth to breathe, gasping and sputtering and shivering. He could not get the gel off his skin. It was in his eyes, his mouth, his ears. He could not hear, he could not breathe, he could not see. It was freezing._

_Small hands were grabbing at him, chaotic movement all around his body, a voice muffled through the gel. He heard screaming, but it did not sound right. It was in his skull, not his ears. He screamed once more when something was poured on his face._

_Whatever it was dissolved the gel, and he pulled in a terrible, gasping breath, eyes opening to see Natasha peering down at him holding a bottle of something in her hand. She started wiping away the gel from his face and neck. He was still freezing, he could feel the cold seeping through his uniform and it made him want to die._

_“Easy Rogers, it’s alright.”_

_“Fuck,” he gasped. He could not breathe still. He felt like he was being frozen out of his own skin. “Fuck, fuck—“_

_“You alright?” a voice asked above him._

_He looked up and saw Agent Rumlow glancing down at him and Natasha. Dread filled him. Rumlow was the last person he wanted to see him like this, humiliation mixing with the leftover fear and nausea. He had hardly been able to look the man in the eye after he had cornered Steve in the med bay a few weeks ago, calling him out on being reckless, suicidal; now the man seemed to be a constant presence. His eye was always the first to find Steve’s when he did something right. Occasionally he’d give Steve a quiet nod which made something stir in Steve that he was unable to name. That he was here now seeing this filled Steve with dread, with shame._

_“Rumlow, aren’t you supposed to be covering the power supply corridor?” Natasha asked._

_“Are you alright?” Rumlow asked again, meeting Steve’s eye._

_“I—I’m fine, Agent R-Rumlow,” Steve said between chattering teeth. Steve met his eyes for a moment before looking away._

_“What are you even doing here?” Natasha snapped._

_Agent Rumlow scoffed and shook a bottle of liquid identical to the one Natasha had. “Thought I was the only one carrying this, alright? Relax.”_

_“Well you weren’t.”_

_“Yeah, maybe you can show me where you kept it in that little catsuit of yours.”_

_“Get bent.”_

_“Is that how you like ‘em?”_

_“St-stop it!” Steve snapped. He pulled himself to his feet, legs shaky underneath him as he leaned against the vat of gel. All three heads snapped around at the sound of gunshots, though Steve was slightly slower than Agent Rumlow and Natasha. “R-rumlow, connect back with the the others in the— in the power supply room. Widow and I will—“ He reached down for his shield when Agent Rumlow stopped him._

_“No, Cap, you need to go wash that shit off. You look wrecked.”_

_“Take him back to the jet,” Natasha ordered. “I got this.”_

_“You sure?”_

_“He can’t make it back on his own. Go.”_

_Steve did not mean to sigh in relief, but he did. Both Natasha and Agent Rumlow stared at him as he leaned back against the vat, trembling. “S-sorry.”_

_“It’s okay. Go wash up, Steve,” Natasha said softly. And with that she was gone. Silently running down the hall to the sound of the fight. Steve wished she had not left that quickly. He was not sure he wanted to be alone with Rumlow right now, but he was too tired, too panicked to fight it. There was something about Rumlow that threw him off. The man made him laugh, but also made him feel terribly exposed._

_Though he imagined he could not feel anymore exposed than he was now, trembling and sputtering._

_“Come on, big guy.”_

_Steve did not actually remember getting back to the jet. All he knew was that Rumlow was unzipping his suit, pulling off his shirt in the showers when he collapsed down onto the floor in a shivering heap, a sob in the back of his throat. It had been so cold, arctic-cold, surrounding him everywhere, and he could not shake it, it stuck to his skin._

_“I got you, Cap,” Rumlow whispered, holding him to his chest. The straps and buckles of his suit cut into Steve’s skin but he didn’t care. He did not even feel it. “I got you, It’s alright.”_

_“It was an accident, I didn’t—”_ I’m sorry _, he wanted to say, but didn’t._

_“I know. It’s alright.”_

_“I’m fine, I’m f-fine,” he whispered, he lied; more to himself than Rumlow. The man could probably see right through him. Steve always felt that way with him. Like Rumlow knew something that Steve didn’t. It made Steve seek the man’s approval; he could not help it. He hated it. He loved it._

_Steve could not stop shaking. He could not shake the feeling of being unable to see, to hear, to breathe. A wave of nausea hit him and he vomited on the floor of the shower stall. Rumlow ran a warm, perfect hand up and down his back and Steve shuddered against it. He was terrified. He was ashamed._

_“Yeah, you sure seem fine. That shit’s fucking toxic, Steve, it’s okay to be affected by it.”_

_Agent Rumlow leaned over and turned on the faucet and the two of them were immediately under a shower of warm water. He curled into to Agent Rumlow without even realizing it and watched in a daze as his puke and the grey blue gel started slipping away and down the drain. Steve did not know how long they stayed there. Time did not seem to work the same way just then. It could have been minutes or hours for all Steve knew. Rumlow’s hand was carding through his wet hair and it felt like a miracle._

_He slowly caught his breath and blinked._

_“You’re getting wet,” he said softly._

_“You’re worth it.”_

_Steve wiped his nose and pulled away from Agent Rumlow, face growing hot. “Sorry— sorry, I don’t know what happened. That stuff—”_

_“It’s fine, Cap.”_

_The warm water continued to patter down on them as they sat on the shower room floor. Steve could not pull himself out of Rumlow’s gaze, and he felt inexplicably small, still shaky from the gel oozing over his skin and into his pants, his boots with the warm water. Their breathing was in sync. Steve wet his lips with a darting tongue, and Rumlow glanced down to watch before meeting Steve’s eye once more. Rumlow inched forward, Steve could feel the heat of his body against his skin they were so close. He thought he might have been dreaming. This was not really happening._

_He was still shaking when Rumlow’s lips were on his, hot, claiming, fierce. Steve gasped into his mouth, and pulled him in closer. Rumlow pushed into Steve, sliding them both across the floor and back against the metal walls of the jet’s showers, Steve feeling it cold as ice against the skin of his back where Agent Rumlow was hot as sin against his front. His hands felt like electricity on his ribs, and he scraped his teeth along a part of Steve’s jaw that Steve had no idea would pull a moan like that from his throat._

_“You did good, Cap. Proud of you.”_

_Another sound came from Steve; half moan, half whimper as his head fell back against the wall of the showers, feeling Rumlow’s mouth on him, feeling warm in a place deep inside of him that he did not know had grown so cold, so hard._

_“I’m liking the way this mission is turning out.”_

_“M-me too…”_

_“You okay?” Rumlow asked, inches away from his mouth._

_Steve forced himself to nod after a moment. “Y-yeah. I mean, better than before. This is— yeah.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

He knew it had been a long time only because he was growing sore everywhere. His legs were quivering from being held tight to his chest for so long, his jaw ached around the gag because he kept clamping down uselessly, the skin of his neck burned from how he kept pulling at the rope, his arms were growing numb pinned under his body, fingers tingling from lack of blood, bruises getting painfully jostled every time he moved wrong.

The bed dipped, sending him pitching over before a hand ran though his hair, thighs bracketed his face; that was almost worse. He could smell skin and musk everywhere, overwhelmingly heady. He whimpered when hands, Rumlow’s hands, both flesh, undid the gag, pulling it from his mouth. He was ready to beg, to plead to make this stop, but something else was shoved in his mouth, thick and familiar. He choked around Rumlow’s cock, gagging and sputtering and drooling as Rumlow pulled his head up from the mattress and into his crotch. He thrust in deeply, hitting the back of Steve’s throat every time. Steve thrashed against the bindings, choking on the cock, choking on the rope around his neck, desperate and confused and dying on the bed.

Rumlow came in his mouth and on his face, salty and hot and sticky. Steve drew in a breath, opening his mouth, raspy and wet when hands pulled his body to the side. His head hung off the bed and a metal hand fisted in his hair, gripped the back of his neck and a new cock was jammed into this throat. He sobbed and tried to pull away but it was useless. Now Bucky was violently fucking his mouth where he hung almost upside down over the edge of the bed. Steve could not breathe. He could feel the world growing fuzzy, even if he could not see it, could not hear it.

Bucky came in his mouth. Steve tried to swallow it, coughing and wheezing around it but hands shoved the too-big gag back into his mouth and clasped it too tightly around his head.

They left him with his head hanging off the bed. He tried to pull himself up, but it was impossible. Hands ghosted over his skin, reaching down between his legs.

The plug inside him started vibrating.

He screamed behind the gag once more as strong arms pulled him by the ropes on his chest and threw him back on the center of the bed. He bounced as he landed, hips thrashing, muscles clenching, trying to pull away from the new sensation running through his body, pressed hard against his prostate, moving up his spine like a jolt of electricity that never, never stopped.

He might have passed out again.

He was on his stomach; or on his stomach as much as he could be with the way he was trussed up. He grunted against the gag as a cool hand ran over his lower back, and fingers slid up his thigh, grabbing the base of the plug. For a moment he thought maybe Rumlow would take it out. Maybe this would be over, but that was foolish.

Brock pulled the plug almost all the way out from inside of him. Steve groaned in relief as the vibrations left. It was fine for half a second at most. Then Rumlow slammed it back into Steve, hard and fast.

Steve screamed again, sobbing as Rumlow started fucking him with the vibrating plug. It was massive, it was stretching him too far, there was not enough lube, the lube was cold, the sensations were too much. It was killing him.

Hands took off the gag a second time. He had just enough time and breath to rasp out, _“No, please_ ,” before another cock was inside of his mouth, fucking his throat brutally hard as Rumlow slammed the plug in him over and over. He tried to pull away, but all he managed to do was pull the ropes tight against throat once more. 

He probably passed out then.

The next thing he was aware of were hands on his hips. The plug was gone, the gag was back, his face was sticky. Someone was pumping into his body hard and fast. He could feel more than hear himself letting out weak grunts with every thrust deep within his throat, in the base of his skull behind the gag. He tried once more to pull away, twist out of the hands on his hips, but it was impossible.

At his movement, the bed shifted, and hands grabbed at the ropes on his chest and shoulders and pulled him backwards, until he was sitting in the lap of whoever was fucking him, held by the rope around his arms growing painfully tight around his neck.

A hand pulled away the soundproof plug in his ear, and he gasped and hiccuped behind the gag at being able to hear again, even if only in one ear. It was a miracle, it was incredible.

“We wanted you to be awake for this next part, Stevie.”

Before Steve could process Rumlow’s words, the plug was back in his ear and he was deaf again. Brock was pumping into him from behind, pressing Steve back against his chest.

Steve jerked when he felt a metal finger at the rim of his ass, slowly stretching him even more as Rumlow thrust inside of him. He was shaking his head, pulling at the ropes, confused, overwhelmed.

The fingers stretched him even more than the plug had. He felt Bucky press in close to his body, sandwiching Steve between him and Rumlow. Rumlow grew still, and he and Bucky held Steve up between them, the head of Rumlow’s cock just barely inside of Steve. Steve moaned and shook his head violently when he felt Bucky’s cock press against him next to Rumlow. He wanted to beg, to plead, but it was impossible.

_“No, god, please—“_  

If only the gag weren’t there.

They slowly pushed him down, forcing him to take both of them inside of him. He threw his head back with a wet howl behind the gag. All he could do was rest against Rumlow’s shoulder as it happened, sobbing, squirming. It was too much, he was too full. 

Rumlow’s teeth were scraping his neck around the rope, Bucky’s hands were flicking the nipple clamps, his mouth latching onto Steve’s collarbone as the two men began to thrust.

He screamed and clenched around them when Bucky’s hand wrapped around his painfully sensitive cock. He could feel the laughter rumbling in Rumlow’s chest against his back. Steve could not stop whimpering, crying, moaning around the gag.

After centuries, minutes, one of them came inside of Steve, followed soon by the other.

They pulled out; someone put the large, vibrating plug back inside of Steve, stopping any of the cum from dripping out of him. They threw him back down onto the bed. He bounced, his head flopped helplessly against the mattress.

A hand started stroking his cock and he screamed again.

There was nothing but pain and sensation at this point. He was barely breathing.

He learned the lesson being taught here. His body was not his, it was theirs, it was Hydra’s. He was floating above it, trapped and helpless and raw. This is what he was supposed to have learned from all the pain before, but was only now sinking in.

_Please,_ he thought. _Just let me die._

He passed out for a final time, succumbing to the darkness of the blindfold.

* * *

_“Agent Rumlow,” Steve said softly stepping into the small conference room. The STRIKE team would use it for any official business they had in the Triskillion. It was late. It was dark, only a single light on illuminating the coffee table a warm orange, contrasting with the dark navy of the sky outside, the cold lights of the city far below them. Rumlow was sitting at the end of the table working through a pile of paperwork, a cup of coffee in front of him._

_“Cap.”_

_“I—um—“_

_“You need to talk about what happened during the Namibia op.”_

_Steve sighed, relieved. “Yeah. It was just—“_

_“How are you feeling?”_

_Steve blinked. “Pardon?”_

_“You okay? You haven’t been freaking out about this have you?”_

_Steve had. It had been a week and he could think of nothing else. During the day he was terrified about the ramifications of their actions, obsessing over regulations and procedures regarding relationships, chastising himself for even thinking that one kiss could mean a relationship; at night he thought of the feel of Rumlow’s lips against his, the press of another body on his own, stubble and teeth and heat on his skin._

_“I’m—“ he coughed, clearing his throat. “I’m fine.” He stepped into the conference room, door sliding shut behind him._

_“You are freaking out.”_

_“I’m not—“ he stopped himself, not willing to argue._

_“I’m sorry. I meant to talk to you earlier, but we both got bogged down with work.” Steve did not respond, rubbing the back of his neck, looking out the window into the night. “It was obviously a one time thing. Won’t happen again.”_

_Steve schooled his features. He had known that would be the case, but hearing it out loud was different._

_“Right. Of course.” He paused for too long. “I just— I just wanted to make sure there was no awkwardness or—“ he stopped with a sigh. “I’m heading out, then. Thank you for—“_

_“Is that how you really feel?”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_Rumlow snorted. He stood up from table and walked around in front of Steve. “Is that how you really feel?”_

_“I don’t— that’s not—“_

_“You aren’t even going to fight for it?”_

_“Sho—should I?”_

_“I was hoping you would. I thought you wanted it.”_

_Steve flushed then, cheeks turning hot. He bit his lip and could not meet Agent Rumlow’s eyes._

_“I don’t know what I want,” Steve lied. He glanced down at Rumlow’s lips though, his tongue darting out and wetting his own without leave. He looked a little too long and when he glanced back up to Rumlow’s face, the other man was smiling, smirking. Steve’s blush deepened, caught._

_“You want this.”_

_He was about to take a step towards the door; he should’ve taken a step towards the door when the impossible happened. Rumlow was there in front of Steve, all body heat, a massive presence even if he was not so broad or tall as Steve. Steve could only stare, mouth falling open. Rumlow pushed Steve back into the large glass window looking out over the D.C. skyline. There was a moment where their eyes met, Rumlow assessing him, waiting for him to respond. Steve had not meant to, knew he should not have, but he gave Rumlow a small nod. “Yeah.”_

_Rumlow smiled and kissed him then, hard and fast and perfect. Steve’s knees went weak and he gasped into it, a moan in his throat. It was better than their first kiss, so much better, so much more than he had expected it to be. He thought he could feel it on every inch of his skin, turning him electric, turning him liquid._

_When they broke apart Steve’s eyes were closed. He felt like he was almost shaking, floating away into the navy sky behind him. It had been so long, and all he had been able to think about was the other man’s lips against his, warm, stubble-rough and perfect, so fucking perfect._

_“You okay?” Rumlow asked into his mouth._

_“Y-yeah,” Steve said with a nod. “Yeah.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Hands were on his face. One of the ear plugs was pulled from his ear, the gag was taken out of his mouth. Steve could barely close his jaw, drool slipping out past his lips.

“How are you feeling?” Brock asked, leaning close to Steve’s open ear.

“Please,” he rasped. “ _H-hail Hydra.”_

“Tell me more.”

“Please— make it stop. _Hail— hail Hydra_. I’ll do it. God, please, I’ll be good. I won’t— I’ll be good, I’ll be good— please.”

_Please, please, just kill me, please._

“Good boy.”

One by one he and Bucky started pulling away all the terrible things from Steve’s body. He pulled out the sounding rod, and took off the bullet vibrator, and started stroking Steve’s cock, but Steve screamed, sobbed and jerked back. 

“No! Stop! Just make it stop… I’ll be good… _hail Hydra_ , please, please, stop, please, _pleasepleaseplease_ …”

“Oh babe…” Brock whispered in the ear without the plug. “You’re so good, babe.”

Steve sobbed, twitching away from the hands on his body, even as they started easing away the overwhelming sensations. Bucky was there too, his metal hand light over Steve’s skin. The nipple clamps were gone, which made him sob in pain when blood rushed back to his chest, the plug was slowly, gently pulled out from inside of him, the other earplug was taken out of his ear and he could finally hear again. Finally Bucky and Brock started undoing the ropes, first working on his legs and then his arms.

Brock gave one more tug on the rope along his back, pulling it tight around his neck and Steve gasped for oxygen once more, body taut and trembling.

“You’ll be good?” Brock whispered into his ear. “I don’t want to do this again, but I will, and it will get worse. I promise.”

Brock always kept his promises.

“Please,” he whispered as best he could. “I’ll be good, please. I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t, please, please…”

The rope loosened around his neck and arms and he pulled in a breath, shuddering as Brock slowly pulled it away. It ran across his skin, he thought he was going to be sick. With his arms free he started to reach towards the blindfold when hands on his wrists stopped him.

“No. Leave that on.”

“Brock, please…”

“You said you’d be good, babe.” Steve hiccuped, twitching but put his hands down, wrapping them around his body and curling in on himself on the bed. “Good boy. Good, good boy. It’s over now.”

He couldn’t see, but all the while Bucky or Brock was touching him, holding him as he shook violently, running soothing hands over his back, massaging away the marks from the ropes on his arms and legs and neck. He was a good boy; they kept saying it. He almost believed it. He did not want to be, but being bad, punished once more was something he wanted even less.

The bed shifted as one of them got off, Steve could hear them padding around the room, and god wasn’t that just a miracle? Hearing them, knowing where they were even when he could not see them? It was a relief. He curled into himself even further and felt arms wrap around his body and pull him in tight; one flesh, one metal. Bucky then. Bucky was holding him steady as he trembled, curling into Bucky’s chest. He felt small again, though he had no right to. It was like before the serum, but worse. He felt helpless now in a way he had never known.

Steve started crying once more, softly into Bucky’s chest. Bucky started whispering to Steve in Russian, running his hand through Steve’s hair, rocking him softly.

Steve wasn’t sure he heard it, heard Bucky lean down close to his face as he wept, heard him say something, heard him just barely breath the words into his ear; _“I’m sorry.”_

He flinched away when Rumlow came back to the bed and pulled him around and pressed their lips together, a whimper in his throat.

“Babe, you said you’d be good. Maybe we untied you a little too soon?”

“No! Please— I’ll be good.” Brock kissed him again, and Steve opened his mouth to it after a moment, lip trembling. He could do this. He could let Brock do this. His body was still shaking from his ordeal, Bucky’s hands were still on his skin. “I’ll be good,” he whispered again to no one in particular. “I’ll be good.”

* * *

_“This isn’t your first time, is it, Cap?”_

_“No. But— but it’s been a while.”_

_“Who was your first?”_

_“Are we doing this or what?”_

_“Was it Barnes?”_

_Steve looked away. “Yeah. It was.”_

_“Was it good?”_

_“We were seventeen. It was… fast.” Steve smiled when Rumlow chuckled above him. “But it was good. It was alright.”_

_He and Rumlow kept talking, laughing a little, talking about Bucky of all things; that was the last thing that Steve wanted to talk about, Bucky was the last person he wanted to think about when_ this _was happening. He almost snorted when Rumlow’s typical ‘good to know’ came out in the conversation. He wanted more, his back was arching, his hands wandering over the other man, his body ready; so, so ready. He paused for a flash when Rumlow said something uncharacteristically kind, but forced himself to forget it, to analyze it later. This was happening, it had been such a long, long time._

_Rumlow’s hands wandered down Steve’s skin, and it had been so long since anyone had really touched him like that. Steve nearly died from it. The man’s lips were fire-brand hot against him, moving down his chest and Steve wondered if if he would come from that alone. Further down he wandered, mouthing over the planes of his stomach, the bone of his hip and Steve shuddered on the bed under his hands. He gripped at the pillow behind him with one hand when Rumlow undid the button of his jeans and inch by maddeningly slow inch started to slide them off of him. Steve’s hips lifted of their own accord, and after a moment, there he lay, exposed entirely to Rumlow who was still half dressed._

_They both stopped for a moment, an awkward silence settling. It was not terrible, first times just could be awkward, that’s all. Steve gaped up at him, waiting. Rumlow came back up and kissed him once more. Steve sank into it, hands reaching up and cupping his head, running through the man’s short hair. He could do this. He could be this for Brock. This was the first real solid thing he had touched since he came out from the ocean._

_“God, you’re something else,” Rumlow said._

_“Sorry—“_

_“What? Don’t— that’s not—“ Rumlow scoffed and kissed him again, hand cupping Steve’s cock, stroking lightly. The touch made Steve gasp, and his hands wandered over Rumlow’s body above him, moving down, groping at his ass under his pants._

_There were fingers, there was slick, there was skin, mouths on mouths, mouths on flesh; the light in Steve’s apartment was low, the sound from the street below just barely penetrating the bubble in which the two men were moving. Rumlow lifted Steve’s leg to move up around his waist, pressing in slowly, inch after inch. Steve gasped when Rumlow was in to the hilt. He gasped when Rumlow hit that spot inside of him that had been ignored for too long, that made Steve see a flash of light behind his eyelids._

_Their eyes met. Rumlow’s hands slid up Steve’s arms and pressed his hands down against the bed on the pillows, their fingers interlocking. Steve swallowed, staring up at him. His lip trembled, even as he tried to mirror the small smile Rumlow gave him. Rumlow bent down and kissed him once more. Steve’s mouth opened, his whole body shaky as he kissed back._

_“You okay?” Rumlow whispered into Steve’s mouth._

_“Yeah. It’s good. It feels good. Right.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

He let Bucky move his head and put a sweat-damp pillow under his face. Bucky and Brock were on either side of him, passing him back and forth between them, kissing him deeply, claiming his mouth, making his already sore jaw ache further. He could do nothing but let it happen, his hands floating uselessly near them on the bed.

“You’re good, babe. You did amazing. I’m proud of you. We’re both so proud of you.”

“Please,” he whispered. _Stop._ “I’ll be good.”

“Good to know, babe.”

His limbs were tired, his body heavy. Even as Brock and Bucky kissed him he lost the energy to keep going. The last thing he heard was Rumlow chuckling above him. He was just happy he was able to hear it at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Item the first: EVERYBODY LOOK AT [THIS FABOOSH POLYVORE COVER](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=178077032#scroll_position=183) ESTHER MADE FOR THIS FIC!!! With this, plus [the lovely, amazing fanart Zack made for chapter 3](http://xmen-for-real-justice.tumblr.com/post/128090126391/xmen-for-real-justice-recently-got-really) (NSFW link), I can officially say I am the most chuffed a person could be! Thank you, thank you! :D
> 
> Item the second; Poor Steve.
> 
> Item the third; I'm Betsy, I'm made entirely of Twix and Bagel Bites and you may yell at me on these various places.  
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	15. Chapter 15

Steve woke up to the sound of voices speaking in Russian nearby without realizing he ever went to sleep. He turned his head a little before remembering the blindfold was still there. Bucky’s hand ran through his hair, turning his face. He kissed Steve, who only opened his mouth limply to let him inside. The bed dipped behind him, and hands, Brock’s hands, twisted him around. Then Brock was kissing him too. Steve did nothing but take it, sighing softly, resigned, into the mouth above him.

“Good boy,” Brock said. Steve did not reply.

Bucky and Brock continued to speak in Russian above him. After a moment Bucky’s hand was back on his face. He said something in Russian to Steve as Brock got off the bed.

“Steve?” Bucky murmured. Then started speaking in Russian once more.

Steve frowned. “I don’t speak Russian,” he finally rasped back. He could not get his voice to work properly, he was not sure he wanted it to. His throat was raw, and it hurt to even swallow.

“You need to shower,” Bucky said after a moment. “Agent Rumlow is making food. Come.”

He let Bucky pull him to his feet from the bed and guide him through the small apartment. He bumped his bruised wrist against the doorframe into the bathroom and a small, pained sound fell from his mouth as he pulled his arm into his body; Bucky hissed, murmuring in Russian once more, running a hand on Steve’s arm gingerly, easing away the hurt.

Steve stood in the bathroom in nothing but the blindfold as he heard Bucky take off his clothes, his arms wrapped close around his body. The shower turned on and he felt Bucky’s hands on his skin pushing him towards it.

“Keep your eyes closed. I’m going to take off the blindfold, but you still cannot look.”

“Buck—“

“You must be good. I’ll take care of you, but you must be good. I’m sorry. That’s how it’s gotta be.”

“O-okay.”

“I’ll always take care of you, yeah punk?”

Steve jerked at the words. _It was Bucky! It was him. They were alone, they could plan out their escape. He was really here._ His breath caught, reaching for Bucky, to hold his hand, pull him in close. As he was about to open his mouth however, Bucky started murmuring in Russian once more, soft comforting things that Steve did not understand. He sighed, dejected.

“Bucky?” _Please._

“You keep calling me that,” he replied softly. “I don’t know what it means.”

Steve bit his lip. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter,” he finally whispered, heart aching.

He could not help but flinch when Bucky pushed the blindfold up and away from his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands groping out as Bucky pushed him around the shower. He flinched again when the warm water hit him, and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, murmuring in Russian once more. He pushed Steve back against the tile, pressing their lips together. Again, Steve opened his mouth, limp, tired.

He remembered this though. It was not the first time he had been kissed in a shower. Without thinking, exhausted, he brought his hands up and cupped Bucky’s head, running over his shoulders, his chest. He felt Bucky smile against his lips.

“Good,” he spoke into Steve’s mouth. “You are doing good.”

Steve nodded, letting Bucky’s hands wander over him. He felt the bar of soap glide over his skin; his chest, under his arms as Bucky lifted them one after the other, over his stomach, around his back. He gasped into Bucky’s mouth when Bucky slid the soap between his legs. Bucky made a clicking noise, chuckling as he cleaned Steve.

He shook against the tile as Bucky knelt down in front of him. _Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t…_ he was terrified Bucky was going to take his cock in his mouth once more. He did not think he could bear that. Could Bucky even say no to something like that? How long had Hydra been doing _that_ to him? The entire seventy years he had been in the ice? Steve dropped his head back against the tile, swallowing a sob. However, Bucky merely was running the soap up and down his legs, innocently cleaning him down. At a tap from Bucky he lifted one of his legs and Bucky washed first one foot, then the other, kissing him on the knee before standing back up and pressing his lips to Steve’s once more.

“So good, Steve,” he murmured.

With a shaking hand Steve reached out to Bucky’s left arm. He wanted to stare at it. Spend the same number of hours with this one that he had with Bucky’s flesh arm. But he could only touch it, scared of what would happen if he opened his eyes. He ran his hand down the smooth, plated metal, fingers slipping from the water. Bucky let him take it and run both of his hands along his new arm. It felt like an arm, it felt like a hand. Steve could almost hear the noise of it over the spray of the water.

“What did they do to you?” he whispered. “What happened to you?”

“I don’t remember,” replied Bucky softly. “But I am here now.”

“Bucky…”

“Shhh. Be good. Good boys do not despair.”

Steve almost opened his eyes at that, from confusion and shock. It was such an odd turn of phrase. He wondered at it too. That’s what he was feeling, _despair_. But also something else he did not know the name of. He was not sure he had ever felt this way before. Perhaps when Bucky fell from the train, when he woke up in New York?

Bucky turned the water off, and opened the shower door. Steve shivered at the gust of cold air that hit him, and Bucky started murmuring in Russian as he began to towel Steve dry.

“Good boy.”

The whole time he never opened his eyes.

* * *

With the blindfold back on, Bucky led Steve out of the bathroom. Steve wrapped his arms around his middle, feeling terribly exposed. Bucky had put his own clothes back on, but had left Steve naked. He should have been used to it, he had been naked for days, but something was different now.

“He did good,” Bucky called out to Rumlow, pressing Steve into the direction of the small kitchen.

“Glad to hear it.”

They started conversing in Russian once more. Steve flinched violently when Rumlow stroked his cheek, bringing his hand up to slap Rumlow’s away. Bucky caught his wrist.

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. You’re just twitchy. But you’re gonna be good, yeah?” Steve reluctantly nodded. “What do you say?”

Steve frowned for a moment. Bucky and Rumlow said something in Russian, talking about him again. Rumlow chuckled and ran his thumb over the crease in Steve’s brow.

“Come on, babe. Small mistake, what do you say?”

“I—I’m sorry?” Steve finally said.

“Good boy.”

Steve was frowning still, “What?”

“Good boy,” Brock said once more. “You hear me? You’re good.” He took Steve’s face in his hands, and pulled him down to kiss him on the forehead. “You hear me?” he asked again.

“Y-yes.”

“You’re good.”

“O-okay…” he whispered back. “Okay.”

Bucky took his hand and led him into the small kitchen. He pressed Steve on the shoulder and made him sit down against the cabinets and sat down next to him. Steve tucked his legs into his chest and pressed into the corner, holding his knees, the linoleum of the kitchen floor cold against his skin. Above him he could hear Brock cooking, he could smell onions and meat sautéing, smell the spices. Rumlow was measuring out ingredients into a bowl. At the sudden sound of a mixer in the bowl above his head, Steve flinched once more, a violent, whole-body jerk, hands coming up to protect his head instinctively. The sound stopped and Rumlow ran a hand through his hair.

“Shh. It’s okay. Just making some corn bread.”

Bucky took one of Steve’s hands from his knee and brought it into his lap as Rumlow started mixing again. Bucky absentmindedly played with Steve’s fingers, running across his palm, massaging the thick muscle of his thumb. Steve let his head hit the cabinet door behind him, let Bucky play with his hand. He was trying to be good, but his heart was pounding, his body felt like it was not his. He wanted to run as much as he wanted to stay perfectly still, like a statue.

Rumlow finished with the mixer and said something in Russian; Bucky responded with a soft, _“Da.”_ and after a moment, some clattering from the counter above them, Bucky took Steve’s hand and held it out in front of him, wrapping his fingers around something metal. For a second Steve froze, thinking it was the metal sounding rod. It was a little too thick, but would that stop them from shoving it into his—

Bucky pressed his hand towards his mouth, “Lick,” he said softly.

Very carefully Steve stuck out his tongue until he touched— he flinched back, pressing even further into the cabinets. It was the beater for the mixer, covered in corn bread batter. He half-dropped half-flung it away and it landed with a loud clatter on the floor.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck? Oh god. Oh my god—”

“Babe—“

“God help me, god help me, god hel—“

“Steve.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked. His hands started shaking again, his whole body started shaking again. “What are you fucking doing?!”

“Babe, you said you’d be good—”

“What does that even fucking mean!?” Steve screamed. “You were torturing me for days and now you’re making fucking cornbread! I can’t— I can’t— I can’t do this. I don’t know what you’re doing. What the fuck do you want from me?!”

“I want you to calm down.”

Steve whimpered, pressing into the cabinets, feet slipping on the linoleum. His breath was coming hard and fast in his throat as Rumlow’s hands cupped his face. “Ican’t— I can’t— please—“

“Shh. It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky whispered in his ear. Steve tensed up, curling in on himself. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not— I can’t—“

He hated it, but he started crying. Again. He hated it even more when he let Brock pull him away from the cabinets and press his face into Brock’s chest. He and Bucky both ran a hand over Steve’s back, whispering soothing nothings while Steve sobbed, anguished and confused.

Bucky asked Brock something in Russian and Steve snapped. “STOP IT! You don’t speak Russian! You don’t speak Russian! Neither of you do!”

He shoved them away and clawed at his face, at the blindfold before Bucky took his wrists firm in his hands. The grip was tight enough to hurt his sore wrists again; Steve could feel the bones shifting under his skin. He screamed, loud and feral, sobbing and blind.

“What do you want from me!?”

“Shh…” Brock hummed. “Shh. Settle down, babe.”

Bucky pulled Steve down into his lap, and he went; what else could he do? Steve was sobbing into Bucky’s pants. He could not even move when Rumlow’s hand ran up and down his back.

“Please,” he finally moaned. “Please, I can’t do this.”

“Babe, you’re doing fine. You’re doing good. Just a little backpeddlin’, you’re just twitchy, you’re fine.”

“I can’t do this. I can’t— I can’t—“ He was drowning in something else, lost.

“It’s okay, babe. You’ll feel better with some food. You haven’t eaten in a long time, do you remember? It’s been a while, and you get weird without food, that’s all. You’re doing good.”

He heard Brock stand up and go back to the stove. The two men started conversing in Russian once more; easily, as if there were not a naked, blindfolded super-soldier sobbing on the floor of the kitchen. Bucky ran his hands through Steve’s hair, leaning down every now and then to press his lips against Steve’s temple. Steve was shaking on his lap. Bucky said something and Rumlow replied with a soft, “Yeah, sure.”

A moment later there was the sound of a bowl being put down in front of them on the floor. Bucky shifted and then Steve felt Bucky’s hand in front of his mouth.

“Try it,” Bucky said. “It’s good. Like you.”

Steve had no idea how to respond to that. He parted his lips and felt Bucky very gently put his finger inside of Steve’s mouth, on his tongue. There was something on it. The batter from the corn bread.

“It’s good,” Bucky said again. “Yeah?”

Steve nodded, numb, and Bucky did it again, getting some of the batter on his finger and bringing it to Steve’s mouth. He had no choice but to eat the batter off of his finger, again, and again, and again.

“You’re good, Steve,” Bucky said. “You are doing good now.”

Steve closed his eyes behind the blindfold and pressed his face deeper into Bucky’s thigh. The man was content to just run his hand through Steve’s hair, petting him like a house cat. A flash of something passed through Steve’s mind; _sex kittens,_ and he shuddered violently, curling in on himself. Bucky made little shushing noises, which did not help at all. He scratched Steve’s scalp lightly, and Steve hated how wonderful that felt. 

“Calm down, Steve,” Brock said above them. “Just let this happen. You’ll feel better.”

 

Bucky shifted above him, and the next time his finger came to Steve’s mouth, it was the metal. Steve flinched back. He pulled away, scrambling back into the corner with a whimper.

“Steve?” Brock was kneeling in front of him again. Steve could smell him. “Talk to me.”

They were talking in Russian again and Bucky’s metal hand was on Steve’s shoulder. He screamed, curling in on himself, pulling his arm away from Bucky. All he could see was the corpse from before, the rotten, bleeding stump where his arm should be. The way Bucky’s face looked when he was about to punch Steve earlier. The anger, the precision. The way Bucky’s face had looked as he fell from the train. Steve should have caught him, he should have jumped after him. He should not be here right now. He should have died. He should be the one without an arm. He never should have let Rumlow kiss him during the Namibia op. He should not have started dating Rumlow. How could he be so stupid? This was his fault. This was all his fault.

“Steve, be good, babe.”

“Brock, please. I can’t do this— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s—“

“You can. You’re doing real good, babe. You’re perfect”

“No, I’m— Please, take the blindfold off. Even just for a minute. Just— I can’t—“

“Babe—“

“Please! Brock, please! I can’t do— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—“

“Babe, you gotta calm down. Can you wait a little bit?”

“Please—“

“I’ll take the blindfold off when the food is ready, okay? Can you wait that long?” Steve fell back against the cabinet. “Babe?” Steve nodded finally. “Good, babe. You’re doing really good.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. _It’s all my fault._

Brock leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead, before standing up and going back to the cooking. Bucky and Rumlow spoke quietly to each other, and Bucky slid over next to Steve, his leg warm through his pants against Steve’s skin. They waited quietly together on the floor.

Steve was no longer crying. Not really. He thought about what Bucky said; _Good boys don’t despair_.

He hated that he felt guilty over not being ‘good.’

_This is part of the torture_ , he tried to tell himself. This was what Rumlow wanted him to feel. He wrapped his hands around his middle and curled tightly in on himself. That did not change anything though. It did not make this any less his fault. How could he have done this?

* * *

_“I don’t think I’d’ve minded you when you were small,” Brock said late one night as they lay next to each other on the bed in the dark. The only light came streaming in through the curtain from the streetlight outside. “I bet you were even more sarcastic than you are now. It would’ve been a trip.”_

_“You think?”_

_“I don’t mind twinks. Maybe I’ve got a thing for blonds too.”_

_Steve snorted. “You wouldn’t’ve seen me. No one did. I was invisible.”_

_“I’ve seen pictures. You were cute.”_

_“Shut up. You don’t need to say that.”_

_“I’m serious. You were cute then, and you sure as hell are cute now.”_

_“I’m not cute, Brock. You’re just happy you got someone to fuck. You don’t have to pretend otherwise. It’s fine.” It was late, otherwise he probably would not have been so honest._

_“Do you really think that?” Steve did not answer. “Babe?”_

_“It’s true, isn’t it?” he snapped back._

_“No.”_

_“Oh come on!” Steve turned and looked at him. “Of course it’s true. I know why I’m here, you don’t have to be sweet on me about it. I’m not stupid.”_

_“Babe, are you serious? Where is this coming from?” Steve glared at him for a moment before turning away with a scoff, sitting up on the bed, grabbing at his shirt, and getting ready to leave. “No, don’t you run off, asshole.”_

_“Fuck off.”_

_“What the hell, Steve?!” Steve was putting on his pants, looking for the keys to his bike when Brock grabbed him by the arm. “What’s gotten into you?”_

_“Stop lying! Don’t fucking lie to me!”_

_“Lying? What the fuck are you talking about?”_

_He tried to pull Steve back to the bed and Steve shoved him away, stalking to the door. He pulled it open when Brock ran over and forced it shut before he could leave. He looped his feet in Steve’s legs and tripped him up, slamming him back against the door, their bodies pressed flush. He pulled Brock even closer, grinding their hips together. A small groan fell from Brock’s lips and Steve laughed, dark and angry._

_“I can kill you,” Steve whispered. “So easily. Break you like a fucking twig. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at me when I’m in the field. It gets you off, fucking someone like me, fucking a science experiment like me. You don’t think I’m cute, you think I’m a fucking novelty. And I let you. I let you because you’re right.” Steve started laughing again, something hysterical bubbling up inside of him. “I let you! What the fuck else am I here for anyway?”_

_“Babe—“_

_Steve started undoing his pants with one hand, reaching at Rumlow’s crotch with the other. “Come on, we haven’t done it against a door before. Bet that’ll be fun—“_

_“Stop—_

_“Come on,_ babe _, do it,” he sneered. “Just fucking do it!”_

_Brock’s hands were fast. He took Steve by the hair and slammed his head back against the door, so hard he saw stars, blinking at Brock who was inches from his face. He wrapped his hand around Steve’s neck, and a thrill of fear ran through him._

_“You need to settle down,” Brock said, voice low. This was Agent Rumlow, not Brock. Steve forced down a shudder._

_Steve glared at him, breath heavy in his chest, but he was quiet._

_“I don’t like the way you’re talking, boy.” Steve looked away as best he could with Brock’s hand on his neck, fingers curling up and holding his jaw. “I don’t like what you’re saying about you, and I sure as fuck don’t like what you’re implying about me. If that’s what you really think, we’re done. You walk out, you don’t come back.” Steve was tense, almost shaking in Brock’s grip. “I’m fucking here for this, for you. Not for fucking Captain America, for you. You hear me? If I wanted a quick lay I coulda bought one. I chose you. You are not just a fuck to me, you are not just some fucking tool to—“_

_Steve flinched, and Brock’s hand loosened just a fraction on his neck and he grew quiet._

_“That’s what this is…” Brock hummed after a moment. “It’s about what Fury said at the brief this morning.”_

_“Shut up—“_

_“‘The right tool for the right job.’” Brock forced Steve to meet his eye once more. “And that shit has been eating at you all fucking day.”_

_“Let go, Brock,” Steve said. His voice trembled just a little in his throat and he felt his skin turn hot. “Let me go.”_

_“Babe—“_

_“Brock, stop it.” Steve reached for his fly once more, hands trembling. “Come on, just fucking do it. Just fuck me— that’s what— that’s why I’m—“ Brock kissed him. Steve gasped, wet and shaky into his mouth. “Stop it— stop it, please—”_

_“Jesus Christ, babe. Have you been thinking this the whole time we’ve been together?” Steve did not meet his eye. “Hey, hey, hey. Babe, look at me, come on.” Steve finally turned and looked, his eyes stinging. He clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry, babe. I should’ve seen it sooner.”_

_“What?”_

_“This is my fault.” Steve stared at him. “You have no idea what you do to me. And I never told you.”_

_“Brock, it’s fine.”_

_“Babe, shut up.” He kissed Steve again. “I like you, Steve. I don’t give a fuck about Captain America, or the serum. You’re sarcastic as shit, you make me laugh, you have the bluest eyes.” Steve’s breath hitched just barely in his throat. “You bring out the sap in me, asshole. You happy now? Fishing for compliments?” Steve huffed out a breath of laughter, staring at the floor. “I won’t have you talk about yourself that way anymore. You’re a good guy, Steve. You hear me? I know what I’m talking about, I’m old as fuck. I know exactly how lucky I am to have landed you.”_

_“Okay, fine. Just let me go…” he whispered again. He could barely form the words._

_“Absolutely not. Not until you listen to me. I like you. Okay? I like you a lot.”_

_“Fine, okay—“ Steve said to the floor, to Brock’s shoulder. “Good to know,” Steve said then, softly. He was almost smiling. He did not believe Rumlow, but it felt nice to hear. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to him like that. Not since Bucky, he thought._

_“Damn right ‘good to know.’ And you’re cute as hell, don’t forget it.”_

_“Okay…” Brock turned his head, made him meet his eye. “Okay.”_

* * *

The minutes passed slowly. Steve was lost in thought and not-thought. Maybe he dozed off a little behind the blindfold. His whole body felt too heavy, like gravity was pulling him harder than the rest of the world. At the same time his mind felt like he was floating. He almost wished he had the cuffs again, if only to keep him from flying away entirely. The blindfold after so long made him lose all sense of direction, of permanence, of reality.

He became aware at the sound of Brock and Bucky chuckling fondly as they chatted. A hand ruffled through his hair. He could smell the cornbread in the air.

“Sleep good, babe?” Steve did not respond, curling in a little more on himself. “You’ll never guess what your boy said while you were out.”

There was a hand on his face, there was a metal hand on his skin. He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and let himself just be touched for a minute. He did not know what to say to Brock anyway.

“He told me he thinks you’re cute,” Brock said, a smile in his voice. “Can’t blame him, can we? He’s got good taste. You’re perfect.” Steve did not respond once more. They spoke a little in Russian. “He’s blushing, Steve, can you believe that? God when this is over, you two are going to have so much fun. Every day, Steve. You’ll have him every day.”

More Russian. Steve flinched when they ran their fingers over his face, his cheeks.

“That’ll be nice right?” Steve waited a little too long before nodding, and Brock sighed. “Well the food’s ready, so we can take off the blindfold for a bit, okay? Let your boy see your pretty blue eyes, yeah? Give him something to really blush about.”

Brock slowly untied the blindfold and pushed it off his face. Steve squinted in the bright light of the kitchen. He swallowed, looking between Bucky and Brock. He could see. It was a miracle. It was terrifying. The two men were smiling at him, Bucky sitting next to him and Brock kneeling in front of him. He let out a deep, shaky breath, turning away to look at the floor. Brock stood up and started dishing out bowls of food for the three of them above him.

Bucky cupped his face and their eyes met. Bucky said something in Russian without ever breaking eye contact and Brock laughed.

“He says he’s sorry we had to cover your eyes. He likes them.” Brock puttered around before saying, “Be good, Steve. What do you say?”

“Th-thank you?”

“Good boy.”

“He is good,” Bucky added. “Isn’t he?”

“He’s the best, he’s perfect. That’s why we need him.”

Bucky smiled at Steve, and spoke in Russian once more, fast, animated, and Steve almost started crying again. His face was the exact same. He looked like he was ready to go to Stark Expo, like he got the latest Science Fiction periodical, like they were going to the dance hall. He was happy. Brock went about handing them bowls of food, chili with sour cream and corn bread, and sat on the floor watching Bucky and Steve. Bucky and Brock kept talking, kept talking about him, and Steve could not do anything but sit there in silence.

* * *

_‘One time’ Brock had promised. Just once, come on it'll be fun! It had still taken a lot of convincing but Steve finally agreed. They had just finished a mission and were the last ones to leave the conference room when out of the blue, Brock opened a supply closet, and pulled Steve in. His hands were everywhere and Steve was squirming against the wall. He undid Steve’s pants and stuck his hand in and Steve yelped before Brock slapped a hand over his mouth._

_Steve wiggled his face away, “S-sorry.”_

_“’s fine, just keep it down.”_

_Steve’s knees were shaking, Rumlow’s hand was back in his pants and the adrenaline, the arousal, Steve’s foot slipped and he slid a few inches down the wall with a jolt. Brock chuckled, their eyes met, and Steve had maybe half a second to figure out the smirk on the man’s face when he tore Steve’s pants down to his knees, hooked his foot behind Steve’s leg and with a quick move, sent him sliding all the way to the ground in a tangled heap._

_Steve started giggling, it was too ridiculous, and Brock’s teeth scrapped his neck. “Gotta be quiet, babe,” he whispered._

_“B-brock…”_

_Brock’s hands were between his legs. One was stroking his cock, slowly, deliberately and he had licked the fingers of the other one and was toying with the rim of Steve’s asshole. They were in a a supply closet. Steve was curled in on himself, desperately trying not to tremble. Steve could not even think. At any moment someone could open the door looking for a ream of paper or some staples and see him like this._

_“Won’t let you come if you’re not quiet.”_

_“W-what? hnngg… Brock…”_

_“Shh. No talking. Gotta be quiet if you wanna come.”_

_“Brock, please.”_

_Brock’s hands grew still. A finger inside of Steve, a fist around his cock, but they weren’t moving, they weren’t doing anything. Steve squirmed, writhing on the floor, aching for Brock to move. He gaped at Brock who only grinned at him._

_“You gonna do what I say?”_

_“Pl—“ he stopped himself, mouth slamming shut so fast he could have chipped a tooth._

_“Good. Good, Steve.” His hands started moving again, fingering him slowly, stroking him deliberately. Steve bit his lip, a high whine, unexpectedly loud in his throat. That made Brock stop again, leaving him trembling where he sat. Brock leaned forward and scrapped his teeth along Steve’s jaw._

_“Don’t make a sound. That’s an order.”_

_“Y-yes, Agent Rumlow,” Steve whispered. He did not even think about it, it just came out._

_“Oh, I like it when you call me that. I can think of some other things you can call me.” Steve was biting his lip so hard he was sure he would tear through the flesh, bleed onto his shirt, fighting back a moan. “Next time maybe.”_

_Brock moved slowly, so slowly. But expertly. He took his hand off of Steve’s cock for a moment to spit in his hand and Steve wanted to scream when his hand came back to his flesh. His toes were curling in his boots, and his arms were shaking as he tried to hold himself up against the wall, not slump down into a quivering heap. This was nothing. He was getting a hand job and fingered. Part of him wanted to blame it on the serum, his oversensitivity, the way his skin felt everything so much more, but he knew he was lying to himself. He liked Brock telling him to be quiet, he liked the stakes being raised, he liked the order to follow._

_His balls grew tight. He was close, he was so close._

_“No noises, Steve. Don’t make a sound. Anyone could come in and hear.”_

_Steve nodded. One more stroke, one more brush against his prostate. Steve whined behind closed lips and saw stars, head slamming back into the wall behind him as he came._

_After a few moments he was panting, coming down from the bright haze and he met Brock’s eye in the dark closet._

_“Did you have fun?”_

_“Y-yeah. That was good.”_

_“You liked it?”_

_“I liked you. When you… told me—“ he couldn’t finish the sentence. He was slowly coming back to reality and realized how ridiculous he had been._

_“You liked when I told you to be quiet?”_

_Steve blushed. “I liked when you told me what to do.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“Am I allowed to talk?” he asked softly. Brock looked at him, chewing his bite of chili. Steve glanced between him and the bed for a moment, seeing the cuffs still there, seeing the blindfold lying on the ground between them. “Sorry. Never mind— sorry, I’m sorry—”

Brock swallowed. “No, it’s fine,” he replied at last. “You can talk. There may be stuff I won’t answer though.”

Steve nodded before taking another bite of the chili.

“What do you want to know?”

“Why doesn’t he remember me?” He glanced over at Bucky who regarded Steve curiously, holding the bowl of chili in his metal hand, eating mechanically.

“Brainwashing, torture, mind-control. All of the above, really. He’s been with Hydra since before I was born for all I know, and they don’t tell us much about him.”

“He doesn’t even remember his name.”

“His name is ‘Soldier’ for all intents and purposes. They put that in the handbook.”

“You have a handbook?”

“I was joking.”

Steve sighed. “Can I put on some clothes?”

“We’re just gonna take them off again.”

“Why?”

“I thought the three of us could fuck before tomorrow. It’d be good for you.”

Steve froze, thoughts immediately flying to ropes, the ear foam, the sounding rod. He almost dropped the bowl of chili. He glanced between Brock and Bucky but they did not seem to notice his very sudden terror.

He finally made himself ask, “What— what’s tomorrow?”

“The Tentacle.”

“And you what? Gotta break me down even more before that? I think I’m broken enough tha—“ He paused, realizing what he said with a blink; _I’m broken._

_I’m broken._

It did not really mean anything, but the words coming from his mouth were jarring. He had stopped fighting is what they really meant. He was always fighting, always trying to fight his way out of things. He wasn’t anymore.

“Babe?”

Steve very carefully put the half-empty bowl of chili down on the floor, glancing between Bucky and Brock before finally focusing on the floor. He thought perhaps he would suddenly find it hard to breathe again, or he would grow sweaty, he would start shaking and crying; he had been sobbing so hard before. But none of these things happened. He almost marveled at his body. He was numb. He was entirely numb.

Brock was there in front of him, cupping his head, forcing Steve to meet his eye. “Babe?” Steve could not respond, he just stared at the man. The man who broke him. “Oh babe, it’s not your fault.”

“What?” Steve stared. That was the last thing he was expecting Rumlow to say to him.

“You did your best, Steve. You fought for a long time, longer than I thought you would. You’re so strong. You’re perfect. But no one can fight forever, babe. Not even you. You had to start to break eventually. You cracked because I wanted you to, and because you were ready to; it’s not your fault that it happened. And you did it beautifully.”

He could not hold Brock’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. He could not even say what he was sorry for, but that was all that came to mind in reply. _Good boys do not despair._

“It’s okay,” Brock murmured. His hands were so warm on Steve’s face, his thumbs ghosting over his cheeks, his lips. “We all make mistakes. You’re doing really good. Steve, look at me.” He turned Steve’s head again, brown eyes piercing. “You fought for a long time. That’s good. You’re so, so strong. And you’re doing good now. You hear me, babe?”

Steve spoke slowly, more to himself than to Brock. “I’m not coming back from this.”

Brock almost looked sad. “No, no you’re not.” His thumbs ran over Steve’s cheeks again. Steve blinked, eyes growing wet. “And that’s okay. This is just death and rebirth; that’s order, that’s what this is about, what Hydra’s about. The Tentacle will break you all the way, and then things will get so much better. We’re going to rebuild you into something even more perfect. And you’re doing good. You’re already so much better than you were.”

“Am I?” Impossible. He was a sallow, shaking, naked mess sitting on the floor, bruised and broken. _Broken._

Brock smiled. “Yeah, babe. You’re getting more and more perfect the more we work. More ready to give in, to let Hydra rebuild you. You’re perfect. So perfect.”

He leaned in and kissed Steve. Steve tentatively opened his mouth, letting the other man slide his tongue in. It was warm, it was gentle. There was none of the terror and resignation from before. Or it was there, but Steve could not bring it to the fore. He was tired. He was broken. What did it matter?

He did not know what to do with his hands, they floated in front of his stomach from his lap for a moment before he felt someone touch him. Bucky’s metal hand wrapped carefully around his wrist and brought it up to Brock’s chest. Bucky was helping him. His brain finally clicked in place and he started to lean into the kiss ever so slightly. It was happening, and he was a part of it now—

He pulled back with a gasp. “No, wait—“

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. Are you done eating?” Steve nodded after a moment. “Then it’s time. Let’s go to bed.”

“What? No— please—“ He pushed himself even further into the cabinets. Were they going to tie him up again? Fuck him both at the same time? Take away his hearing? “Don’t. I’ll be good, I said I’ll be good. I’ll be—“

“It’ll be fine, babe. Not like the other times We’ll make sure you enjoy yourself.”

“Brock, don’t— I can’t— please don’t do that again— please—“

“Shh. Babe. Babe, it’ll be good. No sounding rod, no choking. It’ll be so good. You’re doing so good, but you need to calm down.”

“Please, don’t—“

“Babe, it’s going to happen. It’ll be good for you. Show you what things will be like when we’re all done.”

“Can— can I have the benzo again?” Steve asked. “Please, it’ll be—“

He could do this with the benzodiazepine in his veins, making this hurt less, making him feel better, _pliant._ He wanted it badly this time. Even with the terrible crash afterwards, the vomiting, the burning pain in his skull. It did not matter. Was this what it felt like to become an addict? Not exactly like he could get something this potent from a shady man in a back alley (and was he even going to go outside ever again?). He wanted it. He wanted to escape. He did not want to feel so—

“Afraid not,” Brock replied. “Can’t have that in your system for twenty-four hours before the Tentacle.”

“Please. Please, I can’t— I can’t be this way. I can’t be this thing you want. Just drug me. Then you can just fuck me until I’m dead and I won’t even fucking know. Please—“

“This is the dark side of the moon, babe. You’ll come out stronger.”

“By playing house? With blindfolds? By torturing me, confusing me until I lose myself completely?” _Until I break?_

“You’re doing good, Steve.”

“Please, Brock.” He held out his arm; held out his _veins_ to the other man, shaking. “Please. Just— the benzo— it’s better. You like me better that way anyway. I’m sweet, right? I’ll—I’ll be sweet for you then. Perfect. I’ll be perfect, remember? I–I promise—”

“I like you better like this. I like you. You’re perfect now.”

Steve let out a sob. He could not meet Brock’s eyes. He felt Brock and Bucky staring at him and he could not get away, he could not fight, he could not run, he could not even think.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, babe.”

“Please don’t do this—“

“Why?”

“Please, Brock—“

“Stop begging and tell me why.”

“Because— because—“ Steve could not even find the words. “I don’t want this, please, Brock— I don’t—“

“Why not? Why are you crying, babe?”

“I’m— I don’t—“

“Tell me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m— I can’t think— it’s too— I’m scared— and I don— please, _god_ , please! I don’t want this—“

“Shh. There it is, babe. There it is.”

Steve stared at him, breath hitching. Rumlow had been saying the same thing for days now. That Steve was scared. Looking at him now, realizing he was entirely right sent a new wave of terror through him.

“You’ve been scared for so long, but you’re so strong you didn’t even let yourself see it until now, babe.”

“What?”

“But you don’t have to be scared. With Hydra you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

“Brock, please— I don’t— I can’t do—“ he stopped himself, biting his lip, looking towards the ceiling, the walls, anywhere but at Bucky and Rumlow. “Just give me the benzo. Please, I can’t—“

“Say it again.”

“W-what?”

“Say it again.”

Steve met his eye, raw, exposed. “I’m scared,” he whispered.

“Again.”

“I’m scared.”

“Again.”

_I’m broken._

“I’m scared. I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared. Please, please— please stop, please just stop— god, please— I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I—“

Brock leaned in and kissed him once more. Steve sobbed into his mouth, face wet with tears as he opened his mouth to it, as he kissed him back, terrified, exhausted. Brock pulled back, said something to Bucky in Russian and soon Bucky was kissing him too, which made Steve let out a fresh sob. It was Bucky. It was everything he wanted and he was so scared, and so tired. It felt good to kiss Bucky, to touch his skin. Bucky had been dead. Bucky was dead for so long, and now he was here.

_And Hydra brought him back to you_.

After a few moments Steve slowly settled down, hiccuping a little, wiping his face, unable to look the two men in the eye. They waited for him patiently as he trembled against the cabinet. 

“Come on, babe,” Brock said from far away, from another world. “Let’s wash your face and go to bed. It’ll be good. I promise.”

Brock always kept his promises.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered. What was he sorry for? He couldn’t even think.

“Do you want to start to make it better?” Steve stared at him, finally allowing himself to nod slowly. Anything to pull the weight from his shoulders, the terror.

“Say it. You don’t have to be scared anymore. Give it up to something bigger.”

“What?” His eyes darted between Brock and Bucky, and Bucky slid closer to him.

“You have to say it, Steve,” he whispered. “Say it.”

It slowly dawned on him, realization coming heavy, both slow and too, too fast; like something from scripture, something he could not ever fight against, something so much larger than he could ever be.

“No…” he whispered, head shaking. “Please, don’t make me…”

“It’s okay, babe.”

“Say it, Steve,” Bucky said. “It’s okay.”

The back of his head hit the cabinet. He almost thought he could physically feel the last of his willpower drain out from him, leaking out of his pores, dissipating into the air to be consumed by Brock and Bucky’s lungs. He met Bucky’s eyes. Bucky reached up and stroked his cheek.

He took a small breath and finally let go of whatever it was he had been clinging to; the unnameable thing that made him Steve, made him wake up in the mornings, made him keep breathing. He gave it up. To something bigger.

They brought Bucky back to him after all.

_“Hail Hydra.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took me a very, very long time. I'm very tired. And it's like 7k words, which is just nutso. I've read it so many times that it's stopped making sense.
> 
> Might be a little while until the next chapter. I've got IRL things (and tomorrow's my birthday! Yay! :D), but hopefully I'll have more for you soon. I mean, like, it seems like Steve's all broken, but there's going to be like 22 chapters... what else could we possibly have in store?
> 
> Also, poor Steeb!
> 
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	16. Chapter 16

Steve found himself in the bathroom once more, Brock leaning against the doorway as he washed his face. The warm water felt almost foreign against the salt dry skin of his cheeks. He met his eye in the broken mirror and flinched, just as he had the last time. Pale, eyes red and puffy with dark circles. He did not recognize himself. Was this even a mirror?

“S-sure you wanna fuck me like this?” he asked the room softly, just barely remembering that Brock was there. “I look like shit.”

* * *

_“Christ babe,” Brock whispered in his ear. No,_ Agent Rumlow _whispered in his ear. They were still on the job, and one of them had to be a professional. Steve stared straight ahead as they watched the cleanup crew arrive, trying not to react. He was desperate for them to finish quickly. After the small skirmish turned full out battle he was covered in mud, engine grease, no small amount of blood and, unfortunately, viscera. “I want to just fuck you up against the humvee right now, just bend you over, don’t care who the fuck sees.”_

_Steve stared at him, eyes wide, more than a little turned on by the declaration, swallowing. “Really? You wanna fuck me? Like this? I look like shit.”_

_“I want to fucking eat you alive like this. Watching you do your thing— my spank-bank is filled from now ’til the world changes.”_

_Steve tried to lighten the mood. “I’m covered in who knows what, you know? I’m disgusting right now.”_

_He leered, looking Steve up in down that left Steve blushing under the thick layer of mud. “You’re something.”_

_“Is— is it a good something?”_

_“The best. Just spend the trip back thinking about what I’m going to do to you, okay?”_

_“Do I get to shower first?”_

_“No. You shower when I’m done with you. Ain’t no use wasting the water if I’m just gonna dirty you up again.” Steve bit his lip, swallowing back a moan. “You like that?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“You’re perfect, babe.”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time I looked this bad. I didn’t think the serum would let me.”

“Well, you’ve been through hell. You look better than before. The food’s helping, I think.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked over to Brock in the doorway. “Did Rollins do this all to you?”

He snorted, “Hardly.” Steve looked at him curiously. “You’re fucking weird, Steve. There was no way we could break you the normal way.”

“The normal way?”

“Jack became friends with me when I was lost, just barely scraping by as a new SHIELD recruit. Though, I bet that sounds familiar.”

Steve felt a small flush as he recalled his first few months at SHIELD after the Chitauri incident in New York. _Lost_ did not even begin to describe the way he had been feeling. Though, _became friends_ did not exactly describe the way Rumlow had found his way into Steve’s life either.

“Were you two? You know—“

“We fucked, if that’s what you’re asking. But it was casual, I guess, and it only started after he broke me. There’s a bond between people when they break you; sometimes you can’t sleep with anyone else. And he’s something else in bed. But we took a break when I started working with you. When this is over he may join us. I’ve told him all about you and he’s definitely interested.” He looked Steve up and down as he leaned against the bathroom sink. “Who can blame him? He’s earned it too. He helped me plan out what I was going to do to you.”

Steve stared at him, trying not to think of Rollins and Rumlow fucking him. Trying not to think of Rollins _earning_ Steve. But at the same time he realized it might not really matter. Who was he to say no to them now?

“What—“ he cleared his throat, swallowing. His legs felt shaky underneath him as he leaned against the bathroom counter. “What happened? When you— when he—”

“He got me real drunk, I blacked out and woke up naked in a cell. Lot of fighting. Lot of getting beat up. Lot of screaming. Some fucking, but it doesn’t mess with me as bad as it does you. Lights were on brighter than the fucking sun so I couldn’t sleep — sleep dep is a real killer in terms of torture. Makes everything stop making sense, makes you see things that aren’t there. Thought about doing that with you, but I didn’t want to see what you’d get up to with no sleep. Most of what Jack did was just generic torture. Pain, water boarding, usual stuff. And he learned about me, the same way I learned about you, so he knew what to do. I was scared too; he gave me the cortisol and hallucinogenic, like I gave you. I’m glad we got to share that at least.” He smiled, it did not meet his eye. Steve almost wondered if Brock felt sorry about what he had done. “Then it was the Tentacle. Then it was over. I’m not as strong as you. I let go.”

“Just like that?”

“There’s nothing ‘just like that’ about the Tentacle.”

“And it’s like the Leeches? Hours of just pain?”

“Minutes.” Steve frowned at him. “When the Leeches connect to make the Tentacle, the pain gets worse. Exponentially. You can’t last very long with one of those on your spine. And it… it’s hard to describe, Steve. It makes you give up or die.”

“How long did you last?” Steve asked softly.

“Little less than seven minutes. Rumor has it that the record is around thirteen. Rollins was seven and a half, but it’s usually shorter. We’re STRIKE, all old army and special ops, used to pain. Average is about two and half, three and half minutes. We’re betting Jameson won’t go over four. We’re thinking you’ll max out at ten, fifteen at the most. You could be our record beater.”

“Jameson? Davey?” Brock nodded. “He’s just a kid, Brock. He’s what? twenty-two? You can’t—”

“You’re what? Twenty-seven?” Steve did not have a response for that. Brock sighed, and stepped into the bathroom, running his fingers down Steve’s arm. “Come on, babe.”

* * *

_“Christ, you ready to go again? Already?” Rumlow exclaimed, balking at Steve’s cock._

_“Pretty spry for an old fella, huh?” laughed Steve._

_“How old are you?”_

_“You’re fucking a nonagenarian, Rumlow.”_

_“No, I mean, how old_ are _you, minus the years in the ice.”_

_Steve blinked. Though he realized by now that he should’ve expected Rumlow to throw him for a loop. He always did. Just when Steve thought he had him figured out something changed._

_“I’m twenty-six.”_

_Rumlow chuckled and took Steve’s cock in hand, laughing a little louder at Steve’s moan._

_“Good to know. You’re just a baby.” Steve swatted at him, but pointedly did not push Brock’s hand away._

* * *

He took Steve by the hand and walked him out of the bathroom. The door shut behind him and Steve leaned heavily on it as he watched Brock and Bucky. Bucky’s shirt was already off and he smiled when he met Steve’s eye. He looked the same. Perhaps a little more pale, his build a little thicker, and at the same time more gaunt — he needed to eat more, a voice in Steve’s head said. Or rather, a voice in his head _screamed_ — but it was Bucky. It was _Bucky._ Steve tried to smile back just a little bit, quirking his lips more than anything else. Brock murmured in Russian and Bucky stepped up to Steve.

They were kissing, Steve letting himself ease into it this time, feeling Bucky’s lips on his. They had been doing this for days now, but it felt like the first time. There were no drugs, there was no coercion. There was fear still. He was terrified as he brought his hand up and lightly brushed the skin of Bucky’s cheek as they kissed. And god, maybe this was coercion, maybe it was something terrible and wretched but Steve wanted to not care anymore. He had been caring and fighting for a long, long time. 

And Bucky was here.

His conscience made him pull off with a wet gasp. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned back against the door, swallowing a sob, a curse on his tongue. Bucky could not say yes to this, and here Steve was making out with him like a horny teen. His hands balled up into fists; he pressed back against the door and turned away.

* * *

_“We shouldn’t do this,” Steve said sitting up and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Fuck, Rumlow, we could get court-martialed.”_

_“It’s SHIELD, Steve, not the god damn army in the forties. We get found out it’s a slap on the wrist, I promise.”_

_“Rumlow—“_

_“I told you to call me Brock.”_

_“Brock—“_

_“What are you freaking out about?” Brock sat up behind Steve, and wrapped his hands around Steve’s waist. “You’re enjoying this, right? You’re having an okay time?”_

_“You know I am—“_

_“What’s the problem then?”_

_“We shouldn’t be doing this. I just—“ Brock pulled him back down onto his back on the bed and sat over him. Steve swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. “Brock—“_

_“You’ve got so much guilt in there, babe. I’m determined to fuck it out of you. Let me give you a little something.”_

_Steve snorted, but it turned into a gasp when Brock’s hand moved to his cock. His hips jerked up on their own. “Brock— wait…”_

_“Feel good?”_

_“Y-yeah— yeah…”_

_“That’s all that matters, Steve. Okay? Do you believe me? It’ll be okay.”_

_Steve nodded._

_“Good to know.”_

_Steve came moments later, forgetting what they had been talking about until the next morning when they had to return to work and pretend nothing had happened_

* * *

“You need a little something?”

“‘A little something’?”

“Stay there.” He left Steve and Bucky against the bathroom door. Steve tried to steady his breathing while Brock pulled out the case with the syringes.

“What happened to no drugs before the Tentacle?”

“No benzo before the Tentacle. This isn’t that.” He stepped back up to Steve, and Steve realized that, once again, he was pinned against the wall with the two men crowding in front of him. Before everything he thought this would leave him unsettled but his mind was relatively calm. He could not get away, bracketed between the men, so that part of his brain went quiet. In a blink he realized that with Brock and Bucky here in front of him, he felt _almost_ protected _._ _Almost_ safe _._ He had no other choice but to feel peaceful in their sphere since escape was not an option. His mind flitted to the image of a dog calming down in its kennel, its cage, and he blinked and looked away trying to shake that terrible thought.

Give up your fear to Hydra. Go in the cage.

His breath was shaky in his lungs.

“Here,” Brock said. He spun the syringe in between his fingers before he put the needle against his palm. It was not as full as the other syringes. He let out a small amount of the liquid into his hand, no bigger than a dime, and brought it up to Steve’s mouth. Steve tried not to roll his eyes, but leaned forward anyway, and held Brock’s warm hand steady and licked the man’s palm, drinking the liquid.

His head fell back against the wall; he could feel it instantly, undiluted now, making his skin feel warm, melting into his tongue, into his bloodstream through the wet skin inside his mouth. The aphrodisiac. The thing that started all this. He was blinking rapidly, mouth falling open for a moment as he started processing what was happening.

“This is just the aphrodisiac. Before I had the techs mix something into it to make you uncoordinated, and keep you down. But you’ll be fine with just this. It’ll only last a little while to get you warmed up.”

Steve could almost feel his pupils dilating, could feel his skin turning lightning hot. “Woah,” he whispered, pressing back against the wall. He swallowed a few times, and looked between Brock and Bucky. He licked his lips. “Y-yeah,” he said. “Fine. Yeah. This is fine.”

They both chuckled at him, and as if some barrier had been broken, Steve surged forward and kissed Bucky once more. He was going to do everything to the man. He was going to lick every inch of skin, and hear every sound he could make. It had been years, and he wanted it now, he wanted it so much. It was _Bucky_. Coming back to this was as easy and breathing now that he let himself, now that the chemicals were pushing through whatever stupid walls he had built up. 

Brock’s hand found the back of Steve’s neck and Steve leaned into it for a moment before turning and kissing him too, open-mouthed, passionate, messy, raw. His hands ran down Brock’s ribs, his lips over Brock’s face, his neck. He wanted this too. He wanted him too, so much. This man had opened him up in ways he did not know he needed, a life saving spar of driftwood in the ocean and all Steve wanted to do now was convey his gratitude with his mouth, with his tongue, with his whole body. 

Brock chuckled pulling away, “Easy, tiger. One more thing.” He pushed Steve back to Bucky, and Steve went eagerly, almost dying at the small noise Bucky made when their lips met once more. Brock found his way behind him, warm hands moving over Steve’s skin. He pulled Steve back a few inches, and then there was something covering his eyes.

Steve gasped, growing still under the blindfold, save for the way his body had started shaking lightly in Bucky’s hands. Brock tied it behind his head, and Steve leaned back into him. He was at their mercy now, at their mercy _again_. With the aphrodisiac running through him, he found he did not mind so much. A part of his mind was terrified, of course. There was no way to anticipate, to know what was going to happen, but their hands were on his skin, and their intentions seemed pure. Or as pure as could be with aphrodisiacs in the mix. It did not matter. He wanted them, however they would take him. He wanted, he wanted, _he wanted._ Steve’s cock was hard, as he was sandwiched between the two men. He heard a whine from somewhere else before realizing he was the one making the noise. 

“You okay?” Brock asked.

“Y-yes,” he breathed. The aphrodisiac made him warm, made him ready, made him wanting. “Don’t stop.”

“Alright, babe. Let’s get you to the bed.”

* * *

_Steve groaned and rolled over onto his side. The floor was hard beneath them, and they were panting, out of breath from a a fast, sloppy round of sex. Steve was beaming at Brock, who smiled, but winced as he shifted on the floor._

_“Next time let’s try and make it to the bed, okay?”_

_“You keep fucking me like that, you can take me wherever you want,” Steve sighed._

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

He thought the sheets under his skin would be terrible and wonderful like they had been with the benzo, but they were just sheets. They felt good on his skin, but that was all. Bucky and Brock however? The heat of their hands, the press of their bodies, the breath of their whispers. That was something wholly different. Steve had never felt more aroused in his life. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin that made him feel slick and hot as he started grinding himself against Bucky’s hip.

Bucky and Brock were talking in Russian and Steve did not care as he mouthed along Bucky’s jaw, wet and desperate. They laughed; their hands were everywhere on him and he moaned, keened at their touch. He could appreciate every scar under his fingers, every palm on his ribs, his chest. It was perfect.

His mind flashed to all the times he had been with Bucky before, and all the times he had been with Brock before and now that he had the two of them in the same place, he almost could not even process it. It was overwhelming. It was a gift.

* * *

_“Here, happy birthday.”_

_“It’s October.”_

_“Come on, it’s a gift.”_

_Steve reached the bag and turned a bright, bright red at what he pulled out. “Oh—“_

_“You wanna try it?”_

_“Y-yeah.”_

_“You like it?”_

_“Yes.” Steve blinked up at him. “Hell yes.”_

_Brock took the buttplug out of Steve’s hand and grinned, feral, all teeth. “Good to know.”_

* * *

He was on top of Bucky, licking the other man’s skin, when everything stopped.

He froze.

He still felt everything; his body still _wanted_ , he was still hard, and leaking precum and trembling, but it was as if his brain had caught up with him. 

Brock was at his ear then. “Okay, shh, shh, it’s okay, Steve. The initial burn from the aphrodisiac is gone. That’s all this is.”

“Wait—“

He tried to pull back, tried to sit up on the bed but Bucky held onto him by the hips and Brock had a hand on the back of his neck. He squirmed trying to get away.

“You were feeling good, right?”

“Brock, wait—“ Brock’s hand snuck around his waist and found his cock and Steve almost screamed, hips thrusting back down, grinding against Bucky. But he was shaking his head.

“What’s the matter, babe?”

“Brock, I can’t— not this— this isn’t—“

“Come on, come on up.” He pulled Steve way from Bucky, and Steve was grateful for that. Brock arranged Steve on his lap, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut under the blindfold, turning away. “Shh. Settle babe, you’re okay.”

“Fuck, stop— stop—“

“Babe, it’s over,” Brock said softly into his ear. Steve felt cold at the words. “Think of this as another break, the last break. You don’t have to keep fighting anymore. I know you want to fight, that’s what you do, you’re a fighter, but you don’t have to fight any more. It’s over. It’s over, Steve.”

“It can’t be— I shouldn’t—“ _It can’t be over. I shouldn’t be doing this._ Steve was shaking his head until Brock brought a hand up and held his head at the brow, pushing him gently back to rest against Brock’s shoulder.

“Shh. Settle, babe, settle… it’s over.” 

_It’s over._ Steve could not even begin to wrap his mind around what those words meant. It couldn’t be over, and yet there he was breathing heavy, naked and hard against Brock’s chest.

“This is the good. You had the bad, this is the good, remember? That’s order, Steve.”

“Brock, no—“

“No what?”

“I don’t— fuck, I don’t know. Please, I don’t know. This isn’t— I can’t—“

“Can’t what?” Steve was shaking his head again, trying to pull away. “Babe, you’ve earned this.”

“What?”

“You’ve earned this. Is that’s what’s going on? You don’t think you deserve this?”

Steve did not respond, which, for Brock, was enough. It did not mean that Brock was right, but Steve thought there was some piece of logic behind his words. But there was so much more running through his head as well, and he couldn’t even think straight.

“You do, babe. Oh, you do. You’ve done so, so well. We’re going to make you feel good. Hydra’s going to make you feel good. I promise you. You just have to let this happen now. This is the good. You’re gonna feel so good.”

Steve was hard. Steve felt hands over his skin, and there was none of the pain from before. The only pain was imagined really. Brock was right, he thought he did not deserve this. And he didn’t. After everything that had happened, he had lost. _It was over,_ and he had lost. He had not fought hard enough, and here was Brock at his neck, warm and solid, and here was Bucky at his front back from the dead.

It wasn’t fair.

“Just let go, Steve,” Bucky said softly.

Steve never could say no to Bucky.

After a weighted, terrible moment he allowed himself to nod.

He allowed himself to let go…

Bucky kissed him again, and Steve’s eyes fluttered behind the blindfold. Something clicked inside of him. It was over, he could not escape, he was broken, there were hands on his body and skin on his skin. A great, intangible shudder went through him. He reached for Bucky and was kissing him again, he ground down against Brock’s lap. Brock chuckled into his skin and it flowed through him, warm and thick.

“Good boy. You’re doing so good.”

Steve believed it then. A flash of clarity. This was all he had to do. He could be this. He could be the body between these two men. His body was not his anyway, who was he to fight it? 

His body belonged to Hydra, didn’t it? His hard cock, his muscles shaking under his skin? It wasn’t his.

Brock’s hands were so, so warm. Steve could feel Bucky’s body heat coming off of his skin he was so close. Steve felt warm, Steve felt so, so warm.

* * *

_“Christ, babe you’re like an icicle!”_

_“Rode my bike here,” Steve said. He was soaking wet, freezing, shivering._

_“Rode your bike through a snow storm, sounds about right.” Brock chuckled and pulled him into the apartment, pushing him straight to thebathroom. “I know how to warm you up though.”_

_He turned the shower on hot and helped Steve strip down before taking off his own clothes. The water was almost scalding on their skin, and Brock’s hands were warm between his legs, on his cock, fingering his hole. Steve’s teeth slowly stopped clattering, but even now he could not come up with a witty retort, something to distract Brock from how cold he still felt, how vulnerable, like being in the plane once more. He had been so cold, and he did not want Brock to know how much it had_ bothered _him. He realized now that this was the first time he had been genuinely cold since they brought him back from the ice, and god, that was a can of worms he never wanted to open. Would he ever be able to just be a little cold again? That wasn’t fucking fair at all. He squeezed his eyes shut._

_He was quiet when Brock turned him around and pressed up against his back. He let himself melt, he let himself be made warm again, closing his eyes and sighing softly against the tile when Brock fucked him._

_“You okay, babe?”_

_“Better now,” he confessed._

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“Are you ready, babe? This is just like before. We’re just fucking. You’re so good at that, Stevie.”

Steve felt a small flush rising on his cheeks. The only thing the other two men were doing was running their hands over his body, but it felt so good. Then Brock did something wonderful and terrible. He crooked his fingers against Steve’s ribs. He tickled Steve.

Steve jerked away with a sudden squeak. Brock and Bucky chuckled into his skin and they both started tickling him in earnest. He wriggled on Brock’s lap, a laugh coming unbidden from his mouth.

“There’s that smile,” Brock whispered. “There he is.”

* * *

_Steve was pouring himself a bowl of cereal when Brock snuck up behind him, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve jumped and chuckled at the touch._

_“Sorry,” Brock said._

_“Don’t be, just a little ticklish.”_

_“Oh really?” Steve could hear the smirk in Brock’s voice and was almost able to pull away before Brock started tickling his ribs. He yelped out and squirmed in Brock’s hands, getting pressed up against the counter, a high whine of laughter in his throat._

_“Brock, stop!”_

_But instead, Brock ground his hips against Steve’s backside, making Steve moan. Brock was growing hard against him, and that thought alone made blood rush down to Steve’s cock. Brock kept tickling him with one hand, on his rips, moving up towards his neck, and with the other he pushed Steve down onto the kitchen counter and started to pull Steve’s pants down around his thighs. Steve squirmed and giggled as he kept trying to scoot away from the wandering hand under his shirt, and sighed and moaned as his hips kept pumping back to Brock’s other hand. Steve could not even imagine what Brock was using as slick, but his fingers were sliding in easily and Steve was pumping down onto them._

_“What a slut, babe.”_

_Steve should’ve been embarrassed but that only made him moan louder. It turned back into another yelp when Brock tickled him some more. He was laughing into his arms on the counter._

_“Come on, Brock. Come on—“_

_Brock slid into him and started pumping in and out, pausing only to tickle Steve some more. Steve was almost screaming at the sensation as Brock hit his prostate and tickled his ribs over and over. He reached around and with one hand pinched one of Steve’s nipples and dug into his rib mercilessly and that was it. Steve came with a shout, the feeling overwhelming as he wriggled against Brock’s hands and ground down onto his cock. Brock kept pounding into him, finally ceasing his tortures and Steve sighed and moaned as Brock came inside of him._

_Brock chuckled into Steve’s back. “A little ticklish, huh?”_

_“A little.” They both dissolved into quiet laughter for a moment. Brock patted him on the thigh and Steve reached over and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze._

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Brock and Bucky were working Steve in tandem, and all Steve could do was moan and keen at their ministrations, mostly massaging and arousing with the occasional tickle that made him see stars, panting and arching up into their hands, feeling too much. He had let go, this was easy, this was just fucking. He knew how to do this, he could be the thing between these two men, he could react and exist the way they wanted him too. That’s all they wanted of him. Something within him did not want to let either of them down. Nothing outside of this mattered.

“Please,” someone whispered into the apartment. “Please…”

Steve realized it was him talking, him begging. But for what? For whatever they could give him, he thought idly, he would take it. He could do this. He could be _this._

“So sweet, babe,” Brock whispered and Steve loved it. He loved being sweet, he loved the hands on his skin and being this for them, being good for them was almost easy.

“P-please…”

“I know what’ll make this fun, babe.”

“Y-yeah? What’s that?” _Getting fucked,_ Steve thought. He wanted them to stop teasing him, he wanted something to happen. He wanted to be good, but they kept touching him and licking at him and teasing him, and he was ready to scream.

“You’ll like it.”

“Please, Brock. I want— I just want to come— please.”

“Do you remember that clip I showed you?” Steve frowned, brow furrowing under the blindfold. He gasped when Brock just barely touched his cock, ghosting over it just barely making contact. “On my phone. Do you remember what that twink called the guy fucking him, Steve? Remember how much you liked it?”

Steve remembered what Brock was talking about. He remembered watching the clip on Brock’s phone in bed one night after they had gone a few rounds. He thought it was crass when the clip first started, but there was something about it that stayed with Steve. Steve had never encountered that sort of thing before, and thinking of Brock wanting him to say it, thinking of saying it to Brock made Steve blush more than most of the things they did in bed.

It was making him blush now. It was not making it any easier to withstand the things Brock and Bucky were doing with their hands.

“What? Brock, come— please, Brock—“

“It’s your turn, babe.” Steve moaned at that, biting his lip. Just the thought of saying it was making him grow impossibly harder. His hips bucked up of their own accord. “Say it. You thought it was hot. You’re so perfect, Steve. I wanna hear you say it. I like your voice.”

* * *

_Steve cackled on the bed. He was laughing so hard that Brock gave him an offended shove. Steve dissolved into giggles. He couldn’t help himself, it was just too ridiculous. He beamed fondly at Brock before starting to laugh again._

_“I’m sorry— I just— are you serious?” Steve finally gasped out between snorts._

_“Yeah, I am.”_

_“No way you get off on being called that.”_

_“What you don’t believe me?”_

_“No.” Steve started laughing once more. “That’s weird as hell, Brock.”_

_“What if I told you it was fairly normal these days?”_

_“I wouldn’t believe you.”_

_“No, here, look.” Brock pulled out his phone, tapped at it and handed it over to show Steve a video clip. Steve gave Brock a withered look when he realized it was porn. A young man being taken from behind, moaning the words Brock wanted to hear. Steve watched transfixed. It was a lot rougher than anything he and Brock had done, and the image of it piqued something inside of Steve. He bit his lip and blushed a little when Brock tried to meet his eye, twitching when Brock ran a hand over his chest, teasing at one of his nipples, drawing out a tiny noise from the back of his throat._

_“Okay,” Steve said after it finished. “I’m still not gonna say it, but I can see the appeal. That was kinda hot.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“Oh god, Brock, please. You can’t be serious. Please. I need to come, I need—”

“Come on, babe.”

“Haven’t you done enough? I thought— I need— God! Brock, please…”

“Come on, babe. Let me hear you say it. You said it was hot, remember? Don’t you want to be hot for me, babe? Don’t you want to be good?”

His breath against Steve’s skin was warm and wet, and his hands ghosting along Steve’s abdomen were familiar and terrible and good. He felt Bucky sucking and licking along his chest. He felt Brock’s erection against the cleft of his ass.

He wanted to be good. He wanted to be this for them. He could do this, he could be this.

“This is good, isn’t it? This feels good, right?”

Steve did not mean to nod once more, but he did, head falling back against Brock’s shoulder. He swallowed as Brock’s hand slid up and wrapped lightly around his neck, a small whimper coming out of his mouth. _Not around my neck, please don’t_ — but Brock’s hand never tightened, Brock’s fingers were soft against his skin, making him shudder in pleasure.

“You want it? You gotta ask for it.”

“Please…”

“That’s not what I want to hear.”

Steve shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut behind the blindfold, another whimper falling from his mouth. He was hard, he was so hard, and for the first time in what felt like a dozen lifetimes it was not coupled with the terrible sensations of pain, of overwhelming feeling, of fear, of asphyxiation. 

“Come on,” Bucky whispered.

Steve never could say no to Bucky.

* * *

_Steve closed his eyes as Brock finished in his mouth with a moan before pulling off. He let out out a content sigh and pressed his face into Brock’s hip, wiping his own come off of his hand on his thigh. After a moment he looked up at Brock with a grin, smile growing broader when Brock beamed down at him and ran his hand through Steve’s hair. Steve was practically purring at the touch._

_“You think about what I showed you?” Brock asked._

_Steve groaned, pressing his face into Brock’s leg. “I’m not saying it.”_

_“You thought it was hot though, right?”_

_Steve met his eye then, rubbed the back of his neck, face turning red. He bit his lip “Yeah, but—”_

_“So what’s the problem?”_

_“Honestly?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Pretty sure once I start saying it I won’t be able to stop.” He blushed even deeper. “It’ll be just my luck that I say it when we’re on an op; say it into the comms and everyone hears.”_

_“I wouldn’t mind that.”_

_Steve swatted his leg. “I would. I’m not—”_

_“Let’s save it then. For later. When you’re ready.”_

_Steve let out a small sigh of relief. “Yes. Okay. Thank you. That’d be good.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“D-daddy, please…” Steve finally said, voice low, raspy. He felt a deep flush creep up on his face at the words, turning away from Brock chagrined; even with the blindfold he felt like he was seeing too much, he was too exposed, eyes on him. Bucky moaned into his skin at the words though, Brock’s breath hitched. Something warm and terrible pooled within him at that. He could do this. He could be this.

“Keep going.”

“Fuck me, d-daddy… fuck me… please.”

“Good, babe. What a good boy.” Brock’s hand slid down and nestled between his legs, brushing against his hole. Steve gasped, arching up as much as he could between the two men. “Ask me to put your boy to work. What’s he doing in all this?”

“W-what?”

“What do you want our little toy soldier to do, baby? You gotta ask nicely.”

“I—I don’t—“

“He’s waiting.”

Steve concentrated on Bucky who was mouthing at the jut of bone and muscle where his abdomen turned into his hip, slowly moving down closer and closer to his—

Steve groaned. “Brock—“

“Be a good boy, Stevie. Say it right.”

Steve gasped, moaned once more, shaking in Brock’s arms. “D-daddy, tell him to— tell him— please— d-daddy—“

“Suck him off, Soldier,” Brock supplied mercifully.

Steve cried out when Bucky’s lips wrapped around his cock, leaning heavily back into Brock’s chest as the man chuckled into his skin. He pinched Steve’s nipples; just the right amount of pressure, sending jolts of perfect sensation through his body.

“It’ll always be like this when we’re done, Steve. It’ll always be this good. No pain, no fear. You don’t need the benzo, you just need this. You just need Hydra.”

Steve could do this. Steve could be this. Steve could need Hydra.

Brock’s chest was gone from Steve’s back for just a moment and Steve nearly fell backwards before Brock caught him with one hand. There was the sound of Brock opening a bottle, and then the slick feeling of lubricant between Steve’s legs.

“Please, Bro– d-daddy…”

“Good boy. Just gotta stretch you a bit first, baby boy.” _Baby boy_ shot down to a deep place within Steve that made him warm, made him taste bile, made him shudder, made him moan.

Brock stuck two fingers inside of Steve just as Bucky was bobbing down, nose brushing the short hairs at the base of Steve’s cock. Steve jerked and bucked up, and Bucky gagged around him, coughing loudly. His mouth was gone, and Steve shuddered, whimpered; the air around his cock feeling desperately cold.

_He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not to Bucky. Not at all._ He started to pull away when Brock spoke again.

“Settle, shh, shh, settle down, babe. Calm down, be good.”

He knew what happened when he wasn’t good. He knew it would be worse the next time around, Brock promised as much. 

“Sorry! I’m sorry— I didn’t mean— I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to, please—“ he gasped again as Brock gabbed him by the middle with his free hand to hold him steady, pulling him backwards. “I’ll be good. D-daddy, please— I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay, babe. Settle, settle.”

Brock took Steve’s shaking hand and moved it to Bucky’s head. Steve tried to convey his guilt through the barely there touch in his fingers. _I’m sorry I made you gag. I’m sorry I’m raping you. I’m sorry I’m not strong enough to say no._

“Small mistake. It’s okay, baby boy. You’re doing so good. So good for daddy. So good for our soldier too.” 

He murmured something in Russian, before going back to stretching Steve with his fingers. Steve groaned as Bucky came back to his cock, did something with his tongue, his metal hand holding him steady at the base. _Please don’t._

_Please don’t stop._

Brock’s fingers were clever, and he knew every way to make Steve twitch and moan. He knew Steve intimately, and used all that knowledge now to leave Steve a quivering shell, all pleasure, all perfect, just right sensations. Even now the blindfold was not so much a handicap as a gift, he could not see, so he felt things more. Brock knew what he was doing, and it was breaking Steve apart. That he couldn’t see the metal hand helped, but only a little.

His hips moved of their own accord; pressing back onto Brock’s fingers, surging forward into Bucky’s mouth. It was a slow, perfect undulation that he had no control over, all he could do was lean back and let it happen. He was tired, his body knew better what it wanted than his mind. His hand carded through Bucky’s hair, his other hand reached back and cupped Brock’s skull.

“Talk to me, baby boy. Tell me what I want to hear.”

“D-daddy,” Steve finally whispered. “D-daddy, p-please.”

“I need more than that. What do you want, babe? You’re doing so good.”

“Pl-ease, Bro-ck.”

“Say it right babe. And don’t stutter. You gotta let go. Say it.”

“F-uck me— d-daddy, please—“

“Don’t stutter.”

Brock’s fingers were gone and Steve let out a loud whine; his skin was burning he was flushed so red. Even with the blindfold he turned away, humiliated, needy.

He swallowed, pulling in loud, strained gasps of air, trying and failing to steady himself. The sensation was perfect, everything was perfect. Brock was playing him like a fiddle, “D-daddy, please,” he finally got out. “Fuck me, please fuck me.”

“Why, baby boy?”

“I—I need it. I need you to fuck me.”

“Tell me more. Make it good.”

* * *

_“I don’t think I could ever really talk dirty in bed to save my life, Brock. I’d be too embarrassed, kill the mood.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Brock slid a single finger back into Steve, teasing, barely making it inside of him through the tight ring of muscle. Steve whimpered, body pushing back against him, desperate for more, humiliated, face burning. All the while Bucky was on his cock, metal fingers now tight around the base to keep him from coming, to keep him honest.

“I—I want you in-inside me.”

“More.”

“I w-want to come on your c-cock. P-please.”

“You’re stuttering. Do you need to stop?”

“N-no! Please. D-daddy, I—I’m so-sorry, I’m trying, I’m trying, please, please—“

“You beg so pretty, baby boy. Keep talking.”

“Please, d-daddy. Please, please, please, please—“

“You’re gonna come on my cock, baby boy?” Steve nodded fiercely. Brock’s free hand slid up his abdomen and teased his nipples. “What are you gonna say when you do?”

“Hnngg— Brock—“ Brock clicked his tongue. “D-daddy— I—I can’t—“

“Baby boy, you want me to fuck you?”

“Y-yes. P-please, d-daddy, please—“

“What are you going to say when I let you come?”

“I’ll say it— I’ll say it—“

“What’ll you say? I won’t fuck you until I hear it.”

Steve let out a high whine. “W-what? Y-you can’t— that’s not—“

_You can’t change the rules, that’s not fair…_

“Say the magic words and I’ll give you what you want, baby boy. You keep stalling, me and your boy are going to leave you here on the bed alone and cuffed. We’ll put in the sounding rod and the ear foam again. Do you understand?”

“D-don’t, please…”

“Say it. Say _everything_ I want to hear.”

“D-daddy, _hail H-hydra…_ ”

Steve almost screamed when Brock lifted him by the hips and brought him down on his cock with a sharp brutal thrust.

“O-oh god!” he cried out, fisting his hand hard in Brock’s hair behind him, in Bucky’s hair at his cock. He was so full, it was so good. “God, d-daddy, Brock— _d-daddyyy._ ”

“My good boy,” Brock whispered in his ear as he began to pump into Steve, brushing against his prostate, teasing his nipples, his neck with calloused fingers. He bit at Steve’s jaw, teeth scraping at that place that always made him melt. It was perfect, it was perfect. Bucky moaned around his cock, and Steve spasmed in Brock’s hold at his hips. Steve could do this, he could be this.

“I—Brock I’m gonna— I’m gonna—“

“Say the words, baby boy. You’re almost there.”

“Are—are you?” Steve asked. It was instinctive, something basic from before all this had happened. He never liked to leave Brock in the lurch.

“Oh yeah, baby boy. I wanna feel you come on my cock, just like you said, remember?” Steve moaned. “You’re so good. So sweet to me, making sure I’m on board. Good boy; good, good boy. You gonna suck off our little toy soldier when you’re done too? Don’t wanna leave him hanging.” Steve nodded again, mouth falling open at the thought of having Bucky’s cock between his lips. “You’re good, babe. You’re such a good boy.”

Steve would have come from those words alone if Bucky’s hand firmly on his cock had not stopped him. He was good. He could do this, he could be this. He could be a good boy. He could be the thing between Bucky and Brock. He gasped, jerking his body down hard onto the cock inside of him, thrusting up as much as he could into Bucky’s warm mouth. This is where they wanted him, this is where he was good.

“Say the words, baby boy. They sound so good on your lips, baby.”

“ _H-hail Hydra,_ d-daddy, pl-lease… _hail Hydra, hail Hydra—_ “

Bucky’s hand was gone from the base of his cock and he sucked Steve in deep as Brock started thrusting in even harder, pounding into Steve in that so good way.

“Oh god, d-daddy, daddy, Bucky, please, god please—“

He moaned loudly as he came in Bucky’s mouth, body shaking with it. It was so perfect, Steve thought he must have died. There was none of the pain, none of the fear that had surrounded him before. Just warm hands on his ribs, on his legs. He clenched around Brock and in a moment felt the man come inside of him too.

“B-brock,” he moaned, “G-god…”

“So good, baby boy. You’re such a good boy.”

Steve found himself smiling without even realizing it, a small, pleased laugh in his throat as he slowly started coming down. He was good. That was easy to be. It was a long trip back to earth, hands roaming peacefully on his skin as Brock eventually pulled out from inside of him and Bucky’s mouth grew to be too much on his cock, and he left Steve with just a gentle tap on his shoulder.

“Gonna take care of our boy?”

Steve nodded and let himself be pushed forward. Brock’s hands on his shoulders, on his face, guided him to where he needed to go, nestled between Bucky’s legs, unable to see because of the blindfold. His cock was hard, and Steve could feel its warmth against the skin of his cheek as he started licking up and down the shaft. He let his hands wander up and down Bucky’s legs, feeling the warm skin beneath his palms, smiling into the crook of his thigh against his face.

Bucky moaned as Steve swallowed him down, bobbing up and down on the thick shaft in his mouth, melting into the feel of it on his tongue. He was sated, it was perfect, he could do this. He loved the way it filled his mouth. He could do this forever. 

“Good boy, Steve. You’re such a good, good boy.”

Steve could be good. Steve could do this. He could be this.

Brock’s hands ran up and down Steve’s back, massaging, gentle, warm and perfect. Bucky’s hand carded through Steve’s hair and after a moment, his fingers tightened gently on the base of Steve’s skull, and he came, warm and salty in Steve’s mouth. Steve lapped it down, mouth body loose, _pliant,_ before moving up and pressing his lips against Bucky’s chest, moving up his body, worshiping his skin.

Brock pulled him away from Bucky, and he let out a small whimper, until he realized Bucky was following them and he was being guided to lie down on the bed. His body quivered with the aftershocks of the sex, skin warm and supple as Bucky and Brock ran their hands over him.

“See, babe. You don’t need the benzo. Everything you need is right here. You’re doing so good.”

“Brock,” Steve sighed. He did not know what he was going to say, only that he was falling in the embrace. Feeling Bucky behind him and Brock at his front. Brock cupped his head and kissed him, and Steve breathed into it, body melting.

“Good boy,” Brock whispered as Steve’s eyes closed under the blindfold. “ _Hail Hydra_ , Steve. Good, good boy. Say it.”

_Everything you need is right here. Hydra brought him back to you. You can be this, you can do this. Your body isn’t yours._

_“Hail Hydra…_ ”Steve whispered.

“Good boy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Occasionally the flashbacks surround a theme... can you guess what this one is? (bonus points if you're nice enough not to say "Gee, Betsy is the theme "you're fucking bitter about being single and not getting laid right now"?")
> 
> It's 'sex.' The theme for this chapter (7600 word monstrosity. I'm actually so sick of this chapter) was 'sex.'
> 
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	17. Chapter 17

The train was fast — German engineering at its finest. Steve could feel the harsh wind blowing through the hole that the glowing blue weapon had punched into the side of the train car. He rushed over and _caught Bucky just in time!_ He was crying, he was laughing, and Bucky was grinning up at him. Just another close call, just another near miss.

“I love you,” Steve said. “I should have sai—“

Something jerked.

Bucky’s eyes grew wide. He was falling, screaming down into the chasm below. Steve was still holding his hand though, Steve was holding—

The arm was dripping blood out of the opening of the train. It felt heavier and lighter than an arm should. It was still clutching at Steve’s hand, fingers still clawing at Steve’s arm. Steve screamed — _“I’m sorry! Bucky! Please!”_ — and fell backwards, dropping the arm, and it started reaching for him, pulling itself across the floor of the train and onto Steve’s body, reaching up towards his neck and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing—

* * *

Steve woke with a gasp, sitting up on the bed, the last remnants of the nightmare clinging in his mind.  He frantically pulled at the blindfold, when hands on his arms stopped him. He bit back a scream.

“Hey, it’s alright, babe. Breathe, just a bad dream.”

He slowly caught his breath, feeling Brock’s hands on his sore wrists. His heart was pounding. It was just a bad dream. If the blindfold were not there, he might have thought this was all just a bad, bad dream.

“What do you need, babe?”

_I need to get out of here, run until my legs fall off and then start dragging myself by the arms, leaving a trail of blood behind me._

“Water?” he rasped after catching his breath.

“Sure. Sure thing.”

Brock got off and walked to the kitchen, and after a moment, Steve followed him slowly. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, feet brushing against the carpet. He stood up and took a few tentative steps. The apartment was small and Steve knew it well enough to make his way over to the couch, even with the blindfold.

The leather of the couch was soft against his skin, and he curled up on one end as Brock came back with a glass of water. He took Steve’s hand and wrapped it around the cup before he sat down on the other side of the couch. Steve drank it slowly. His hand was shaking. He heard Brock tapping at his work tablet. It was almost normal. He was just coming down from a bad dream. The two of them had done this so many times.

“You okay?” Brock finally asked.

Steve almost laughed. Instead he took another sip of the water.

“Babe?”

“Please, don’t call me that,” he whispered.

“You like it. You told me.”

“Not so much anymore.”

“We both know that’s not true, huh baby boy?”

Steve flushed under the blindfold. They fell quiet. Steve remembered the nightmare. Now it was just flashes of terror in his mind, slowing fading as he woke up. He’d had it a few times before. He could not gauge whether it was worse now that Bucky was back.

Brock sighed. “Come here.”

“What?”

“Come closer, Steve. Relax. You’re freaking out.”

Steve slid a little way along the couch until he felt Brock touch his leg. He pulled Steve’s foot into his lap and started rubbing. Steve sighed into it, pressing his face against the couch cushion a little. He almost started laughing again. He felt like he was about to just break down hysterically at any moment.

“What do you need, babe?”

“Don’t make me call you ‘daddy’ again,” he whispered.

“I thought you liked it.”

“It’s not the same as before.”

“How ‘bout we save it for special occasions?”

Steve finally shrugged. He really did not have any say in the matter. What constituted a ‘special occasion’ now? What did any of this even mean?

“It’s funny,” Brock continued. “Words are hard for you. Saying things, confessing things. It bothers you more than other people.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “I guess.”

“Some people are wired that way. It’s psychological. Saying something makes it true for them, for you.”

“That’s why you made me say I’m scared.”

“Yeah.”

“It worked.” Steve almost laughed then. Brock patted him on the leg.

“I know, babe.”

“So how does it feel knowing you broke Captain America?” Steve whispered after a moment. “That’s gotta be something important for Hydra.”

“I didn’t break Captain America. I broke you. Or I started the break. You’re just cracked. Tentacle’s the final wedge.”

Steve did not know how to respond to that. He took another sip of water.

“What happens now?” Steve asked.

“Right now we’re just talking, Steve. You’re coming down from a nightmare. Just like before. Tomorrow’ll be the Tentacle.”

“Just talking?”

“You can ask me anything you’re curious about, if you want. I might not tell you though, okay? It’ll be hard for you, but you’re going to have to get used to not having all the information anymore. You gotta learn to trust what Hydra gives you. You don’t have to know anything.”

Steve nodded and thought for a moment. Brock’s hand was warm on his foot.

“Who broke Rollins?” Steve asked. It was not the first question he necessarily needed answered, but rather simply something curious, fleeting around the edges of this entire ordeal. Jack Rollins and Brock were very close; they spoke volumes in silence with each other. Steve realized now there was obviously something more going on between them. A different sort of history. “I assume this happened to him too.”

Brock did not reply for a moment. Steve felt nervous then, already overstepping some boundary. “Guy named Reed,” he answered at last.

“I don’t know him,” said Steve with a small shake of his head.

“You wouldn’t. He died before you came outta the ice. Official story is KIA.”

“What’s the real story?”

He could almost hear Brock’s smile in his voice. “Who says there’s more to it? What’s wrong with the official story?”

“Tell me.”

“You gotta be careful about digging for more information than you need now that you’re almost one of us.”

“Yeah, but I think you want me to dig for this.”

Brock chuckled, patted his ankle once more. “Good boy.”

“So I don’t have to know things until I know I have to know them?”

“No, you just have to be both obedient and smart. Can’t follow blindly, but can’t just go your own way either.”

Steve hated how much sense that made.

He heard Brock sigh and set down his work tablet before reaching down and rubbing one of Steve’s feet with both hands now.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but everything I’ve done to you has been in order to break you as efficiently as possible.” Steve frowned but did not respond. “Yeah, I know. But I could’ve drawn this out a lot longer, broken you down a lot slower. Break you wrong. That’s not how things are done in Hydra. At least for the initiation. I’m not going to lie and say we can’t spend years torturing our enemies. But not for this. Pain and torture merely for the sake of pain and torture is not order, it’s sadism.”

“And what you did to me isn’t?” Steve asked quietly.

“What I did for you was a kindness. You’ll understand some day.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

“You will one day. I thanked Jack when I realized.”

They fell quiet for a moment. Steve sipped at his water, and felt Brock’s eyes on his body. Without thinking he curled a little closer in on himself, pulling up the leg that Brock was not holding towards his chest.

“How did Reed die?”

“I killed him.”

Steve was not sure why he was surprised. “Why?”

“Because he tortured Jack.”

“You’ve been torturing me.”

“No, I haven’t, Steve. I know it seems like that now, but you’ll understand later.”

“So what is it? Did Reed fuck Rollins? Is it a jealousy thing?”

“No.”

“Why did you kill him then?”

“It’s not a good story.”

“I want to know.” He swallowed. “I think I have to know.”

“Good boy.”

Steve pulled himself just a hair closer to Brock. His glass was empty now, so Brock took it from his hand and Steve heard, felt, him lean forward to set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. His hand was warm, rubbing gentle circles over Steve’s ankle.

“I made a point of learning about you, Steve. You get that now, I’m sure. Find out any weaknesses and insecurities. Honestly, I was sorry when I found out you hated yourself so damned much, that you were scared. It meant that was what I was going to be using against you.”

“You seemed to have gotten through it okay.”

Brock ignored the jab, save for giving Steve’s foot a small shake. “I learned about you so when it came time to do this, I could make this end as quickly as possible. That’s order. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you bring someone new into the fold. Reed didn’t do that. Reed wanted Rollins to hurt more than break, but not for Hydra. He wanted Jack to fail, to lose himself. There was jealousy or resentment there, I’m sure. Everyone knew that Jack was a better soldier and Reed hated him for it. He knew what would make Jack’s initiation go smooth, but didn’t do it. He did everything he could to inflict the most pain without giving him a way to break. Jack was tortured by Reed for almost two months. Physical, mental, emotional, hell even spiritual. It was _wrong_. And Reed, he—”

Brock paused. There was something in his voice that Steve had only heard once or twice. Some deep well of _hurt_ that rarely had enough power to rise to the surface.

“Tell me,” Steve whispered. He was not sure he even wanted to hear it.

“Hydra is a gift, Steve. Hydra gives more than it takes. I know it don’t seem like that from where you’re sitting, but it’s true. And Reed, he didn’t understand that. He was a fucking psychopath. And he—“ he paused once more, as if looking for the right words. “I’m glad you told me you loved the soldier; Barnes. It meant I had something to give you. Something Hydra could give to you.”

“He’s not yours to g—“

“Steve.”

Steve sighed. “…sorry.”

“Jack had something he loved too. Someone. Towards the end of his initiation Reed brought her in. That wasn’t his place to do. That isn’t supposed to happen in an initiation. We do not _take_ in an initiation. And we don’t hurt other people in someone’s initiation.”

Steve recalled the way Brock had hit Bucky, told Bucky to use the knife on himself. Steve had been complicit in sleeping with Bucky too. He frowned but did not say anything. They don’t hurt other people, he realized. _They don’t think Bucky is a person._ He felt sick, tired.

“Reed made her see all things he had done to Jack. Jack was a complete fucking mess too. Then, after making her see, making her watch, he killed her, right in front of Jack.”

“Who was she?”

“Megan Rollins. His daughter. Wife died giving birth to her. She was his whole world and Reed took her from him. For no reason other than to watch Jack scream. She was seven.”

Steve was sitting very still. He could barely imagine Jack Rollins hurt that way. He was a terrifying man in his own right. He had not even made a sound when Mercer had to pull out a bullet from his abdomen with her bare hands, no painkillers. Steve wondered if that was what made him so frightening, watching his daughter die. Sometimes, he saw Jack, when the man thought no one was looking. Steve saw his eyes grow a little colder, dead and tired. Steve pitied him then and wondered about it. Now he knew the pity was warranted.

“So you killed Reed?”

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Steve found himself agreeing with Brock.

“Why didn’t Jack kill him himself?”

“He was too fucked up over it. He couldn’t even function when he was in the same room as Reed. They crossed paths in the hall and Jack couldn’t sleep for days, couldn’t eat. You can’t even imagine it, Steve. He was an entirely different person when Reed was there— when Jack was required to be in the same room with him for any amount of time. Jack was destroyed. Reed did things Satan himself wouldn’t condone, Stevie. Jack probably would’ve been that way even if Megan hadn’t been murdered in front of him. Some days I think Reed killed Megan just because he knew she was the one comfort Jack had in this world. Jack’s going to carry those scars until the day he dies. He was a whole man before Reed. Now he’s not. He’ll never be whole again.”

“So how’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill Reed.”

“We were on an op together. Just the two of us. He didn’t know that I knew what he did to Jack. He was stupid to think that I wouldn’t find out; everyone knew, everyone hated him for it. We were in deep cover, Afghanistan. I paid some mercenaries to attack us. All the evidence is on my head-cam footage. I ‘barely made it out alive.’ There was an inquiry and it was found that there was nothing I could have done differently, and I followed procedure. Then I went back on my own dime. The mercenaries kept him for me like I asked. I pulled him apart, piece by piece, did all the things I had heard he had done to Jack, and then some. When it was over I cut off Reed’s head and brought it back home.”

“You what?”

Brock snorted softly. “Yeah, Jack and I were pretty fucking extreme when we were younger, Steve. We’ve matured a little. That was a hell of a night.”

“The night you brought back a dead man’s head?”

“Jack fucked me with the Reed’s dead face lying on the bed with us. I think that was when he finally let himself give into Hydra, despite being one of us for years. I gave him a gift. Hydra gave him what he really needed. He got closure or some shit.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Brock.”

Brock sighed and patted Steve’s ankle. “Yeah, I know.”

They sat quietly for a few moments. Steve was growing cold.

Brock pulled a little, beckoning Steve over. Steve moved towards him and let Brock position him with his hands, straddling Brock’s lap. He settled down, hands on Brock’s shoulders, the fingers of one hand ghosting over his skin, the short hair at the nape of his neck. He was shaking a little once more; just a bare tremble in his muscles, in the skin where Brock’s hands settled on his hips. “Oh, babe.”

“S-sorry. Is this— h-how do you want me, Agent Rumlow?” he tried, softly.

“Babe—”

Steve leaned in tentatively and pressed his lips to Brock’s jaw, ghosting over the stubble, hands running down his chest, over the t-shirt he was wearing. He ground down against Brock’s crotch, trying to be… _something_ for Brock.

“Are you going to fuck me now? Is that— you can. That’s— that’s what I’m supposed—“

“You still think that, babe? Even now?”

Steve’s eyes closed behind the blindfold. He did think that. It was easier to think that. To think he was just a hole to fuck. He had lost, after all. _It was over_. He did not deserve much else. He nodded.

“You don’t have to do this, Steve.”

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be now…” he confessed.

“Do you want to be this?”

“You love Rollins?” He felt Brock nod under his hand. “And me?”

“I do now, Steve. You can be whatever you want. We’ll rebuild you. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Steve could do this. Steve could be this.

“I don’t know what I want to be.”

Steve’s eyes closed and he pressed his face into the crook of Brock’s neck, melting a little as the other man’s hands ran up and down his back.

_I’ll be with you to the end of the line._

* * *

_“I know it’s not Santa Cruz, but this isn’t so bad, is it?”_

_Steve glanced over at Brock sitting next to him on the beach. They were both wearing hats and sunglasses; the chances of either of them, mostly Steve, being recognized was slim. And it was not really a good beach day; it was cold and a little damp, and the salt air of the Atlantic was almost overwhelming._

_“It’s fine, Brock. It’s nice.”_

_And it was. Steve was happy. He smiled over at Brock who grinned back at him, handing him a protein bar from his backpack; Steve’s favorite flavor. Their eyes met. Even through the sunglasses, Steve felt himself locked in Brock’s gaze. This was good._

_“Doing okay, Steve?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”_

_“You can tell me if you aren’t.”_

_“I’m fine. Really. It’s just been a long week.”_

_“I feel that.” They grew quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to be this, you know? Captain America.”_

_“Yes I do. We’ve talked about this.”_

_“You can be whatever you want to be, Steve. You don’t owe anyone anything.”_

_“It’s fine, Brock. I can be this. For a little while longer at any rate.”_

_“Until when? Until it kills you?”_

_“It won’t kill me.”_

_Nothing can kill me, I’ve got all the time in the world to run away. But he did not want to say that out loud. He had spoken with Dr. Banner, with some of the scientists. He was not going to die any time soon. He was going to watch Brock die and still be in fighting form._

_“That’s not a life, Steve.”_

_That made Steve blink. “It is a life. Just not a good one.”_

_“You deserve a good one. You deserve to be what you want to be.”_

_“I don’t know what I want to be.”_

_“That’s okay,” Brock said, nudging Steve with his shoulder. “I’ll be here when you figure it out. Do you believe me?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Are you happy?”_

_“Right now, or in general?”_

_“Right now.”_

_Steve moved minutely closer to Brock. “Yeah. I think so.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

“Will I be like him?” Steve asked very softly. He was not entirely sure he voiced the words out loud.

“Babe?”

“Will you make me like him? Will you make me not remember? Fuck with my head even more?”

“We might.”

“I don’t suppose it’ll help to ask you not to.”

“Tell me why.”

Steve blinked under the blindfold at the request. “I’m the only one who remembers him from before. Everyone who’s ever known him is dead.”

“You were dead too.”

“I think he remembers me a little. If I could just— he’s been—“

“Yeah, he’s been nice to you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. He’s not usually like that.”

“What’s he usually like?”

“He’s a stone cold killer. This is literally the first time I’ve seen him smile.”

“Maybe he’ll come round to my side of things. Help me escape. I keep telling myself that. _Kept_ telling…”

“It’s too late for you to escape.”

Steve did not respond right away. He idly ran a finger along Brock’s collarbone. “I know.”

“Good boy.”

“Brock, can I— just let me talk to him a little, see if I can jog his memory?”

“He remembers too much, he’ll get unstable; the techs’ll wipe him again.”

“Wipe?”

“Electroshock therapy mostly, some other stuff. Gets rid of anything that would get in the way of a mission.”

“Meaning his whole life?”

“Yes. I think he was dragged kicking and screaming into this world even more than you, Steve. Isn’t it better that he doesn’t remember?”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“It’s not my call, but I’m pushing for you to be his handler. You’d get to take care of him then, even if he gets wiped and doesn’t remember you.”

“Handler?”

“It’s not my call though, don’t get your hopes up. They may make you like him. A fighter. It’d make sense. You’d be amazing out in the field with him. You should see him, Steve. He’s magnificent.”

“Always has been.”

“Just like you.”

Steve did not know how to respond to that. He shut his mouth, pressing against Brock’s neck just a little deeper. “Is there someone I need to kill for you? Is that part of this?”

“Don’t worry about that now, Steve. You’ll know when you need to do something like that.”

“Can I stay with him? I don’t care what I’m doing as long as I—“

“We’ll see, okay, Stevie? That’s what I’m pushing for. Hydra gave him to you, I’m gonna try to make it so they don’t take him away. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You should get back to bed, babe. Big day tomorrow.”

* * *

_“What the hell do you mean you’ve never had Ben &Jerry’s?”_

_“Was a little busy being a Capsicle myself.”_

_“Heh, ‘Capsicle.’ That’s cute.”_

_They walked through the grocery store quietly. It was late at night, but the Safeway was open 24 hours._

_“I didn’t come up with it. That was Stark.”_

_“Sounds about right. But look, Ben &Jerry’s is important. We’ll get a few and you can try them.”_

_“It’s just ice cream, what’s so special about it?”_

_“You’ll see. They’re really good.”_

_They walked into the freezer aisle and Steve stood a ways back while Brock opened the door to the Ben &Jerry’s and pulled out a few, passing them to Steve to put into the shopping cart._

_Cherry Garcia, Phish Food, Karamel Sutra, Half Baked._

_When they had gone back to Brock’s apartment and after they had finished dinner, Brock pushed him back over to the kitchen counter and sat him on one of the stools, pulling out the ice cream and two spoons._

_“No bowls?”_

_“Ben &Jerry’s is traditionally eaten from the carton.”_

_“While we watch chick flicks? I know that cliché. Natasha told me all about it.”_

_“Have you seen Legally Blonde yet? I think you’d like it.”_

_“Yes! It’s definitely in the top ten movies of the new century.”_

_“Alright, try this.”_

_Steve started taking bites of the ice cream. They were good. They were all really, really good. He grinned at Brock and kept eating while Brock chuckled and commandeered the Cherry Garcia. Steve didn’t mind, that was his least favorite of the bunch. Ice cream from before was okay, but he and Bucky could never afford a cone from the vendors in the park, and the icy snow cones with syrup were cheaper. This was something else, rich and sweet and_ good _. Steve was almost laughing as he kept digging in. He was happy. It was almost foreign, and he was so excited he nearly choked on a chunk of the Phish Food, but he didn’t care. Brock stepped over and kissed him for a moment and Steve could taste the cherries on his tongue._

_“You like it?” Brock asked._

_“Yeah. Karamel Sutra’s my favorite.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder gently, and something cold and metal pushing the blindfold up off of his face. He blinked up at Bucky in the dark of the apartment. He opened his mouth, but Bucky shushed him, putting a finger on his lips.

“You have to kill him,” he whispered.

“What?”

“You have to kill him, Steve.”

He glanced over to where Bucky was looking and saw Brock sleeping on the couch. Steve’s stomach lurched, his body grew tense.

“Bucky—“

“You have to kill him.”

“And then we’ll run?” Steve pulled his face over and tried to meet his eye. “Bucky, we’ll run, right? We’re going to get out of here?”

“Steve—“

“Come with me. You’re coming with me. I won’t leave you behind.”

“You have to kill him. I can’t.”

Steve’s breath came fast and hard in his chest as he glanced back to Brock. Was this what hope felt like? He slid from the bed and onto his feet, stepping stealthily over to where Brock sat on the couch, limp with sleep. It was very dark. Save for the rise and fall of his chest, steady and silent, Steve might not have known he was there at all. He and Bucky stood silently over him. Steve stared down, transfixed. He looked smaller.

There was a bare glint of metal and Bucky was holding out the knife for Steve. Steve stared at it for a long, long moment before shaking his head and turning back to Brock.

He remembered everything that had happened. He remembered the fear, the pain, the struggling, the bruises on his wrists that he could not see now here in the dark. The man had drugged him multiple times, raped him, tortured him, manipulated him. _Broke him._ But that wasn’t enough to fuel murdering Brock, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

Instead he made himself think about everything that had happened to Bucky. Had he been tortured since he fell from the train? All the while Steve was sleeping, all the while they were _hurting_ Bucky; changing him down to his very core. He did not even remember his name.

Steve’s fists clenched.

He reached for the man’s shirt and pulled him up by the collar before slamming his fist hard into his face. He felt bones crush under his knuckles, he felt the skin rip. Then he kept hitting him, over, and over and over. He threw the body down onto the ground and straddled it, punching and screaming, feeling blood warm his skin, his face, going up his arms as he punched with both hands now. He was screaming, he was screaming so loudly he thought he’d go deaf from it.

Everything that had happened, every time Brock had spoken to him, touched him, kissed him, whispered sweet nothings into his ear was coming back to the forefront of his mind. Every clap on the shoulder, every wink when no one was looking, every time he ran his hand through Steve’s hair.

Every _‘good to know.’_

Brock had been planning this for so long. Brock had wanted him to break. Brock had brought Bucky back to him. Brock had made him happy.

Steve was sobbing, screaming. Now strangling the body underneath him, smashing his head on the floor over, and over, and over. He moved lower, breaking the man’s ribs; feeling each one crack, pounding on his chest until he felt it collapse beneath his hands.

After eternity, after a few moments, he stopped — this was not something that really could end, he just stopped — he paused to catch his breath, panting. He looked up at Bucky.

He was not sure what he had expected to be painted on Bucky’s face. He was hoping it would be something positive. They were going to get out. He had killed their obstacle, their Goliath and they were going to get out.

He had killed Brock Rumlow.

Bucky looked sad. He looked miserable. He held Steve’s gaze, but Steve could see he was tormented by it. Steve knew that visceral feeling of wishing you could pull your eyes away but couldn’t. It was wrong, that wasn’t what Bucky should be looking like now that this was over. They were free, they were going to run, this was how it was supposed to be. It was finally over.

A voice spoke from the other side of the small apartment.

“Is it all out of your system now, babe?”

* * *

_“Brock, you gotta come back to the apartment, something’s happened!” Steve said into the phone. “I think I broke your dishwasher, I’m so, so, so, so sorry. Call me back when you get this! I’m sorry! I’m really, really sorry! I’ll pay for it, I’m sorry! Sorry! Bye.”_

_Steve hung up the phone and threw it on the counter where he sat with a clatter. The dishwasher was spewing bubbles everywhere. There was a foot high blob of thick, white foam coating the entire floor of the kitchen._

_“What the fuck?” A voice from the other side of the small apartment said._

_Steve turned and saw Brock standing in the doorway. He would have jumped off the counter to walk over to him, but that meant wading through the growing foam coming from the dishwasher._

_“I am so sorry!” he said earnestly._

_“Babe, what happened?”_

_“I fucked up really badly. I don’t know how, but I’ll pay for it! I promise.”_

_Brock stepped over to the kitchen and started moving slowly through the foam. It was soap, it was just a lot of soap. He stood in front of Steve where he sat on the counter._

_“It’s okay. Just tell me what happened.”_

_“I did it exactly like you showed me. I loaded the dishwasher, pressed the button for normal wash. You were out of the powdered soap, so I used the stuff on the sink.”_

_“You used dish soap?”_

_“It’s a dishwasher,” Brock was biting back a laugh, Steve could see him struggling with it on his face and a wave of indignation passed through him. “It’s the same, right? It’s dish soap for a dish_ washer _.”_

_“Oh babe.” Brock pulled his face down and kissed him. Steve kept his mouth shut and glared._

_“I’ll pay for it.”_

_“It’s not broken. You just used the wrong kind of soap.”_

_“It’s DISH soap! to wash DISHES. What the fuck is wrong with this century?”_

_Brock laughed then and pulled Steve down from the counter. His bare feet went through the foam and he slipped a little on the wet floor, and Brock smirked and pulled Steve down. They crashed down into the soapy foam, and Brock reached up just in time to keep the back of Steve’s head from cracking on the floor. He straddled Steve who stuck his tongue out at him, grabbed some of the foam and tossed it at his face._

_“You’re so cute, babe.”_

_“I’m not cute, I’m Captain America.”_

_“Beaten low by a dishwasher.”_

_“Ugh. Why did this happen? It’s soap. It’s soap for dishes.”_

_“It’s not meant for dishwashers. It has a bubbling agent.”_

_The foam was still growing around them. For a moment Steve thought it was like snow, without the added side effect of being freezing._

_“‘Bubbling agent’? What’s the point of that?”_

_“So it bubbles up with water.” Steve rolled his eyes. He took a handful of soap and put it on top of Brock’s head. “Hey, what was that for?”_

_“Now you look as stupid as I feel.”_

_Brock chuckled and kissed him again. “It’s an honest mistake, Steve.”_

_“Ugh.”_

_Brock ground down against Steve’s crotch, and Steve let out a groan. “I know one way you can make it up to me.”_

_Steve was quiet for a moment. “You’re not mad?”_

_“I’m not mad. I swear, Steve. It was just a mistake. No harm, no foul. You were just trying to work the dishwasher. It’s not a problem, okay? Do you believe me?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Good to know.”_

_“So, no dish soap in the dishwasher.”_

_“Nope.”_

_Steve gave Brock a small shove, hips pushing up against Brock on top of him. He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Good to know.”_

_Brock laughed and kissed him once more._

* * *

The light above the kitchen clicked on and there was Brock leaning against the counter, hand dropping from the switch on the wall. Steve’s stomach flipped and he looked back down where he was kneeling at… _Brock._ Or what was left of him. He was almost unrecognizable after what Steve had done. He turned back to the kitchen, and back to the man underneath him.

But it had been Brock, it had been him. It had been so dark, but it had been Brock sleeping on the couch.

Something flickered on the man’s face, on _Brock’s face_. It— it didn’t look right. It flickered again and Steve slowly reached up and touched the bloody mess. It felt like cloth, like mesh, as he pulled it, it started flickering even more and Steve was holding what looked like a thin sheet of plastic.

The man beneath him was not Brock Rumlow.

The man he had killed was not Brock Rumlow.

Steve was covered in this man’s blood, it went up his arms, it had hit his mouth and he had licked his lips and—

He killed him. He didn’t even know who this was. He couldn’t even recognize him if he had now that Steve had finished with him. And Steve had been brutal.

He was screaming again, scrambling away from the man and into the bookshelf, screaming, screaming, screaming. He was slipping in the pool of blood, the pool of blood Steve had forced from the man he did not know but had killed. He covered his eyes, his mouth, he could not get rid of the image of the stranger he had murdered out of his mind.

And he had wanted to kill him. That was the worst part. Steve had never lost himself that way. Steve had never been so violent before, not even when Bucky had fallen from the train. Steve had never met that dark side of himself before and now he could taste the blood on his lips and—

“Oh god help me, god help me, god help me, _godhelpmegodhelpmegodhelpme_ —“

“Babe—“

Steve was rocking back and forth, “Oh god, oh god, oh god, god, god, god help me, please god help me—“

He didn’t know what his hands were doing, what his body was doing, all he knew was that he covered in another man’s blood. He could smell it, he could taste it, he could still hear the crunch as the bones of his cheeks, of his skull cracked under his fists, he could still feel the man’s face give in under the blows.

Brock knelt in front of him, and Steve closed his eyes and pressed back, further into the bookshelf, further away, feet catching on the carpet, on the blood.

“Open your eyes. Look at him.”

“No, no, no, no, no—“

There were tears streaming down his face, mixing with the tacky blood on his skin. Suddenly Brock was holding his face, and turning his head. “Open your eyes.”

Steve did. He was staring at the dead man, the man he had killed, had murdered.

“Please, no, no, no—“

“It’s your first kill for Hydra. I’m proud of you.”

“I thought it was you!” Steve cried.

“That’s okay. It’s okay, babe.”

“It’s not okay!” He could not breathe, he could not think. “It’s not— oh god help me, god help me, god, god, god oh god please—“

Brock kissed him and Steve sobbed into his mouth. “You’re okay. He needed to be killed. You did good, you helped us. You were ordered to kill him and you killed him.”

Steve was rocking back and forth, he could not pull his eyes away from the stranger on the floor. He was muttering, trembling, panicking, screaming, sobbing. “Please help me, please help me, somebody help me, oh god please.”

He was dimly aware of Brock and Bucky speaking, moving around but he was transfixed on the man he had murdered, the man he had all but torn apart. He flinched and sobbed, screamed once more when Brock took his arm and brought a syringe to his elbow. Steve tried to pull away but Brock’s grip was firm and Steve had nowhere to go. He was convinced it was the hallucinogenic, or something worse— there was always something worse. And now he knew the man he had killed would be at the forefront of anything he saw under the influence. He did not think he could survive that.

“No, no, no! Don’t make me scared again— I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— god, please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

“Just some of the sedative, babe.”

“Oh god, please, help me—“

“This’ll help. Just a little to calm you down okay?”

“Please, I didn’t mean it— I’m sorry, I’m so sorry— oh god, help me—“

“Nothing to be sorry for. You did so good. You were amazing, I’m proud of you.”

The needle when in. Steve watched Brock empty the syringe only partway, whimpering, feeling sick.

 _You can die if air gets into your veins_ , he recalled vaguely. _The syringe is there, it’s right there, grab it. Take it!_

Steve held perfectly still, save for the way his body was quaking. 

“I’m proud of you,” Brock said again.

“No,” Steve moaned. “No, god, please—“

Brock left Bucky sitting next to Steve against the bookshelf, and after a few moments he started to feel the heavy pull of the sedative. Not enough to make him sleep, but enough that his heart was not pounding so terribly. He only finally closed his eyes and tried to breathe once more after Brock covered the body with a sheet.

Bucky was sitting next to him. Steve let himself fall into Bucky’s arms, shaking and sick to his stomach as he pressed his face into Bucky’s chest.

“Can you hear me?” Bucky whispered. It was so soft, Steve was not entirely sure if he imagined it or not. Steve nodded into Bucky’s chest. “I’m sorry, Steve. I cannot say no. I cannot disobey. I did not want to. I’m sorry you had to do that. I’m so, so sorry.”

Steve sniffled, but did not respond, pressing his face into Bucky’s shirt, clutching the cloth under his hand. The sedative was pulling him, he could barely think, barely move.

“I’m going to throw up,” he said softly, urgently. Bucky helped him to his feet and walked him to the bathroom, closing the door behind them. He started to vomit into the toilet. Against the white tile, the white porcelain of the toilet the dried blood on his skin looked even worse. Seeing it made a fresh wave of nausea pass through him, and he started dry heaving, his whole body aching with it. After he had finally finished he slumped down on the floor, leaning against the toilet.

He met Bucky’s eye for a moment before turning away, back to the floor. They sat quietly in the bathroom.

“Did they do this to you?” Steve asked Bucky after a moment. He wished he had been wearing the blindfold for the way that Bucky flinched. It was a small movement, but Steve had wished he hadn’t said anything, pain and torture obviously still in Bucky’s mind.

“They’ve done it to me more than once.”

“What?”

“I broke with the Soviets before the Tentacle had been built. I broke with Hydra. They wipe me, give me a new personality, a new life, and they break me when they think I’m no longer broken.”

“God… Jesus Christ…”

“Agent Rumlow wants you to be my handler. But seeing you now, you would be better in the field. They will not allow you to go to waste.”

“No. We have to get out of here, Buck—“

“And go where? You belong to them now. _We_ belong to them. We’ve always belonged to them.”

Steve blinked at him. “No. We haven’t.”

“Tell me, who did we belong to before, then?”

“We don’t belong to anyone.”

“Everyone belongs to someone, that’s order.”

Steve sighed. “I belonged to you. You belonged to me.”

“Then why did you lose me?” He asked simply. Why did you lose a jacket, or a set of keys? Bucky did not think he was a person either.

Steve did not respond. His eyes stung and he could not hold Bucky’s gaze.

“Steve?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back. “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I tricked you into killing that man.”

Steve stared at the floor. “It’s okay…”

“Are you alright?”

Steve let out a small breath, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. His hands were bloody, but had stopped shaking. He wondered if it was from the sedative or if, by some strange twist of his mental faculties that he was accepting what had happened to him. Was he scared now? Of course, he was terrified. But there was no where else he could go except forward. No other choice but this.

“I missed you, Buck.”

“We’re together now.”

“Yeah. I guess we are.”

Brock cleared his throat in the doorway of the bathroom. Steve did not even notice him open the door. “Brush your teeth, babe. We’ll go to bed for a little while longer. I brought you some sweat pants.”

He caught the sweat pants and put them on. SHIELD issue sweats. Were they his pair or one of Brock’s? After days without any clothes it felt almost foreign against his skin, too much, overwhelming. He tied the drawstring, fumbling with it; hands heavy and clumsy from the sedative.

“You really expect me to sleep?” Steve asked. “Af— after that?”

“I can give you the rest of the sedative if you want.”

Steve stood, shaking his head. He walked to the sink and started to rinse out his mouth, washed his hands, not able to get the blood off with his cursory scrub, and start brushing his teeth. He realized belatedly he had followed the order Brock had given him without questioning it. He glanced towards Brock but his eyes caught sight of the covered body outside the door, peaking out from behind the couch and he flinched, turning away.

“Here,” Brock said softly. He was holding something out in his hand and it took Steve a moment to realize what it was, though really, he had grown intimately familiar with the black cloth over these past few days. Steve stared at it where it hung from Brock’s hand for a moment before reaching for it and taking it carefully.

It was harmless. It was a blindfold. _Just_ a blindfold _._ Steve rubbed the cloth between his fingers and stared at it.

“Put it on. It’ll calm you down.”

Steve spared one more glance at Brock before looking at the blindfold, then pulling it up to his face. Bucky came over to him and tied it back around his head. Brock was right. Almost. He could barely make himself move when he was wearing the blindfold. He was not calm though, save for the false calm from the sedative that made his blood move more slowly through him, his mind feel heavy and sluggish. He thought he was dying, he could not stop thinking about the terrible rage, the wrath that surged through him as he killed the man he thought was his boyfriend.

Bucky took him by the hand and walked him in the direction of the bed. At least this way he did not have to look at the body of the man he killed. As he stood near the nightstand his hand brushed something familiar. He recoiled back feeling the open box with the syringes nestled in the foam padding.

“Shh. Settle down, babe,” Brock whispered. “We’re just going to sleep.”

“I don’t want the sedative. I don’t want anything.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“Brock, please—“

“It’s okay, Stevie. It’s okay, baby. We’re going to go to sleep now.”

Brock pushed him onto the bed and he curled in on himself. Bucky found his place behind him and he could feel Brock in front of him, running a hand over his arm, his neck.

“I’m so proud of you, Steve. Okay? You’re doing really good.”

Steve felt small. Smaller than he had before the serum, before he was a child. Bucky always used to say he had a big presence for such a little guy, but he did not feel it then. He felt as though he were being swallowed by some great creature and he was powerless to stop it.

“You’re not mad?” he asked very softly. “You’re not going to— not going to— the sounding rod— the Leeches?”

“No, babe. You did the right thing. You did so good.”

“I killed him. I thought it was you.”

“And now you know how it feels to kill me. You won’t have to do it again.” He sighed, and ran his hand through Steve’s hair. “You did what you were told to do by a senior officer. There’s no shame in that.”

Steve curled a little more in on himself. He felt Bucky’s arm wrap tighter around his waist, but Bucky was breathing steadily, as if he was already asleep.

“Here,” Brock whispered. “A reward. Because you did so good.”

Before Steve could process the words, Brock’s lips were on his, his hand cupping Steve’s head so gently.

It felt like before. With the two men surrounding him, Steve felt warm. He felt almost human. He felt almost like he had before.

Then it was over. “Say it, babe.”

 _God forgive me,_ a voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded like Bucky.

_“H-hail Hydra.”_

“Good boy, Steve.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That was fucking grim, wasn't it? Whoops.
> 
> Lots of love to you all! *blows kisses*
> 
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	18. Chapter 18

Steve woke without realizing he had fallen asleep at all. At first he could not remember anything that had happened. He knew he was in Brock’s bed, but that was it. He was warm. He could probably go back to sleep. It was still dark out and—

No, that was the blindfold.

He had killed a man, he had been raped and tortured and drugged for days, Bucky was alive but did not even remember his name. Steve’s heart grew heavy as the events started playing back in his mind, as everything came rushing back.

Bucky was still behind him though. There were worse things. He and Brock were speaking softly in Russian and Steve thought he could just go back to sleep, let their voices wash over him. He could sleep forever.

“You awake, babe?”

Steve sighed and nodded.

“Come on. It’s time.”

Bucky helped him sit up, and walked him to the center of the apartment. With a soft push on his shoulders, Steve was kneeling on the floor. He heard the sound of furniture moving around him, and then something else being moved away, heavy and limp. He realized it was the body of the man he killed.

“Who was he?” Steve asked quietly.

“An enemy.”

Steve did not say anything else. He knew he would not get anymore information out of Brock about this. The tone of his voice brokered no discussion. Steve might never even learn his name.

What would he even do with the man’s name? Obsessively research him? Find out if he had children? A family? Go to his parents and tell them he killed him? Hand them a gun and tell them it was only right they get to do the same?

“Stop brooding, Steve. It doesn’t matter now.”

He felt Brock move in front of him. He cupped Steve’s head and Steve, without thinking, leaned into the touch, exhaling, some tight string inside of him being cut. Brock hummed which sent a warm wave through Steve, no matter how much he didn’t want it to. He could do this. He could be good. He could stop thinking. They stayed that way quietly for a few moments. It was easier than almost anything else. Brock was stroking his cheek, his thumb ghosting over Steve’s lips.

Part of Steve wanted to take his thumb into his mouth, wanted to press his head against Brock’s hip and never think again. He could hold onto Brock here, he could wrap around his thigh and never, never move until Brock told him to. He could be that for him. He could be quiet, and obedient and open. A deep part of his mind wondered at the fact that Steve’s instincts were pushing him to embrace _that_ part of this. That there was something in his mind that was telling him that this was about sex and not something bigger than anything he could ever hope to face.

It was easier to be blind, to be between Brock and Bucky, to be a whore for them, a hole to fill. And Rollins? And whoever else was in Hydra?

He closed his eyes behind the blindfold and pulled away from Brock. He moved a fraction of an inch at most, but enough for Brock to pull his hand away, and go back to what he was doing. That part of Steve that was easy, that was already given up, wanted him to come back, wanted the warm touch once more.

He wrapped his arms around his middle and stayed on his knees where they put him.

They moved him a little and Steve felt a soft breeze, the rustle of cloth against his arm as they spread the duvet from the bed onto the floor. Every time they moved past him one or both of them would touch him, let him know they were there. A hand on his shoulder, fingers through his hair, a brush of skin on the back of his neck.

Bucky was kissing him. Steve almost flinched away at the suddenness of it, feeling hands, metal and flesh on his neck, feeling lips against his.

“Take off the blindfold,” Brock murmured across the room. Bucky did so without ever breaking the kiss. Steve kept his eyes closed, just tasting Bucky, feeling this.Then it was over. Brock was padding over with the briefcase with the Leeches. He sat down next to Bucky and Steve on the duvet and opened it. Steve watched, arms still wrapped around his stomach as Brock started charging the Leeches.

Of all the things to notice, of all the things to pick up on, it was the fact that Bucky and Brock were comfortable. Sweatpants, t-shirts. Brock was wearing socks. Even now in his sweatpants, Steve was still the least dressed, but it felt strange. As if after this they would eat breakfast. 

What were the chances that Bucky remembered how to make waffles?

“Why aren’t you cuffing me to the bed? Like with the Leeches?”

“You know Peterson? In analytics?” Steve recalled the man with a nod. He did not know much about him save that he used a wheelchair. “You know how he broke his back?”

Steve shook his head, “No,” he murmured. “I thought it was a car accident.”

“That’s the official story. Peterson’s the reason you’re not cuffed. He had the Tentacle while he was chained to a wall. Broke his own back trying to get away and lasted another whole minute before finally giving in. He’s a legend.”

“Remind me to get his autograph.” His voice cracked over the words a little bit.

Brock chuckled and pulled Steve in for a quick kiss before going back to work. Steve did not know what else to do, so he sat there, on his knees, playing with the hem of the sweatpants a little. He was fidgeting. Or something. His stomach was unsettled, and all he could do was remember the terrible pain from the Leeches.

“Don’t be scared, babe. We’re almost done.”

“How long did you say you did it?”

“Six minutes, forty-two seconds.”

“You know down to the second?”

“We time it. And it sticks with you.”

Steve recalled the pain from the Leeches. “I guess it would.” He wrapped his arms a little tighter around his bare torso. He glanced at Bucky. “Did he do it?”

Brock glanced at Bucky who nodded after a moment. He said something in Russian.

 _“Da._ I did it. I think— I think they tested it on me, before it was used by everyone. I can’t be sure though.”

That made Steve want to scream.

“What do you remember?” Brock asked Bucky.

“Thirteen minutes, seven seconds. They let me sleep when I was finished. Actually sleep. Part of me thought that made it all worth it.”

“Sleep deprivation is a killer.”

“The worst.”

Steve wondered at them for a moment. Their conversation lulled back into Russian as Steve watched them. It seemed like Bucky was more comfortable speaking in that language than English, which was almost impossible for Steve to wrap his head around. They spoke easily. They had hammered out so much of Bucky and put something else in that Steve was almost surprised he could recognize him at all. At the same time there was something familiar about watching the two of them. Soldiers together. In a way they were the part of same sort of special operations unit as he and Bucky had been in the Howling Commandos, if you squinted. Some things never changed. Steve did not want to call it camaraderie, but it was a recognizable familiarity among fighters that apparently even Hydra couldn’t escape from.

“Your little toy soldier’s gonna stay with you, Steve. Nothing like a friendly face, right?”

Steve did not respond. He swallowed and stared at the ground, at the duvet laid out on the empty floor. They had pushed back the couch and chairs, leaving a wide open space in the middle of the room. He wasn’t shaking, but the unease in his stomach was enough that he felt unsteady, unmoored. He thought it was that same kind of nervousness he had as a child, before a book report in front of the class, under Sister Catherine’s stern glare. Butterflies, he supposed. But worse. He watched Brock work with the Leeches, saw their pulsing blue glow.

He had weird, floating thoughts about butterflies and leeches and insects but he couldn’t connect them in any logical sequence. All he knew was that insects had a way of getting out of bad situations, leaking into cracks in the walls and floors and out of sight. He wanted to do the same thing.

“What if it kills me?”

He had not meant to ask the question, it just slipped out. A barely there whisper.

“Then it kills you.” Brock sounded so matter of fact about it that Steve almost flinched. “I hope it won’t, though.”

“It won’t kill you,” added Bucky softly. “You’re very strong.”

Steve frowned. He did not feel strong. Of course, physically, nothing had changed. Before when he had tried to open the door he thought perhaps Brock had done something to suppress the serum. It had been a worry of his, and the SSR since he had been changed by Dr. Erskine. If anyone could do it, it was Hydra. But then he had killed that man. Then he had destroyed the man covered in a sheet on the other side of the room. There was no way he could have managed it the way he had without the strength from the serum.

He did not want to be strong anymore. He should have died a long, long time ago.

“It’s time,” Brock said.

He moved Steve by the shoulder, turning him around, exposing his back. He curled his hands, his arms in front of his chest, head easily bending down at Brock’s light touch at the nape of his neck. Becoming smaller. He wanted to disappear, to shrink into nothing.

He was shaking now. He was holding onto his bruised wrist, clutching it tightly. The black and purple had faded a little, but the bruises were still there, splotchy against his skin. Pressing against them brought Steve back down to earth.

He flinched when something cold and wet pressed against his back, before realizing it was Brock wiping him down with a soft cloth. He was murmuring, shushing, but Steve could not hear it. It was the sort of thing you said to a scared animal, rather than a person.

Maybe, like Bucky, Steve wasn’t a person anymore either.

For whatever reason, Steve thought that Brock would put the Leeches on one at a time, like he had before. He’d connect them together when they were already on his skin to make the Tentacle. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting. Something metal pressed against his back and moved down his spine. It started at the base of his neck and ended near his waist, widest at his shoulder blades, tapering off to a point, whirring quietly into the silent apartment.

It stuck to his skin like it had before, familiar and terrible, one large piece against his spine.

“Please, please, please, please…” someone was whispering into the apartment. “God help me, please… oh god, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, Steve. Nothing to be sorry for.”

Steve realized he was begging quietly, his face was wet. “I don’t want this, please, please…”

“It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

Brock always kept his promises.

Bucky and Brock pushed Steve down to lie on his side, and Bucky slid down on the duvet and lay facing him. Steve reached over and took Bucky’s hands in his. He was so steady where Steve was trembling.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky whispered.

_No, it’s not._

“Are you ready?”

_No, I’m not._

Steve nodded. “Do it.”

He became aware of small things then. The way Bucky’s leg tangled in between his own. The way he was breathing, trying to keep it even and failing. The way he could smell the detergent on the duvet cover underneath him. The way Bucky pushed some of his hair out of his face with his metal hand. The way something blue reflected off of the metal; blue, blue, blue _red._ The way his eyes widened when the pain finally hit.

The way the only thing in the world he could see then was Bucky.

* * *

_“We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” Bucky pulled out the spare key from under the brick as Steve patted his pockets. “Come on.”_

_“Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own.”_

_It was easy to say. He_ could _get by on his own. Despite everything, Steve Rogers was not completely helpless. In fact Bucky was the one person who knew how much he hated when people thought that of him._

_His mother was dead. He just wanted to be left alone._

_“The thing is, you don’t have to.” Steve wanted to scream when Bucky’s hand rested on his shoulder, heavy and solid and perfect. “I’m with you to the end of the line, pal.”_

_He made himself smile at Bucky, let himself smile. Bucky was so good. He had no idea how good he really was. Steve wanted to shake him._

_“Come on, let’s go inside. You’ll catch your death.”_

_“It ain’t that cold.”_

_“Humor me.”_

_They stepped into the small apartment. Empty now. Steve was there alone. His mother was gone. It still felt like she’d be coming in with a blustering wind behind her, ruffling her nurse’s uniform. Any minute now she’d be coming home, and Steve would be working on dinner, waiting for her._

_“Thanks for checking up on me,” Steve said after a moment. “You don’t have to stay.”_

_Bucky blinked. “Why wouldn’t I stay?”_

_“Bucky—“_

_He stopped himself when Bucky’s hands were on his shoulders. He was so warm, and Steve felt so cold. He felt small, and god Steve_ hated _feeling small, and having Bucky there in front of him, tall and perfect and healthy and whole made him want to scream. He wanted to scream, he just wanted to scream and never stop._

_“Come on, Stevie. It’s okay. Just let metake care of you.”_

_Steve swallowed down a sob. “No,” he pushed out from between clenched teeth. “No. I don’t need to be taken care of!”_

_“What do you need?”_

_“I need to be alone—“_

_“Anything but that.”_

_“Fuck you.”_

_“Talk to me. Your mom just died and you can’t even look at me. I want you to help you.”_

_“I don’t need help! Especially from you! Not you!”_

_“What the hell does that mean?”_

_Steve blinked and looked away. “I need you to leave.”_

_“No, you don’t.”_

_Steve was barely able to hold it in. He knew if he looked at Bucky he would start sobbing and never stop. He could not swallow down the lump in his throat, nor ease the tightness in his face. Bucky would be next, he was certain. First his mother died, and Bucky would be next and—_

_He could not breathe. He kept gasping, holding onto the back of the chair to keep from falling over._

_“Hey, it’s alright. Just an asthma attack. You’re okay—“_

_“GO AWAY!” Steve screamed through a hoarse throat. It wasn’t an asthma attack. It was just panic, just terror and guilt and every heavy thing that could weigh a person down crashing on him all at once._

_“No! Stevie—”_

_Steve lost it then. He could not breathe and he could not stop sobbing and the sobbing made it worse. He collapsed onto the ground with Bucky holding him to his chest. His vision was swimming. This was too much._

_“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—“_

_“It’s okay, Stevie. You’re alright.”_

_“It’s my fault— god, Bucky it’s my fault! It’s our fault.”_

_“What are you talking about?”_

_“It’s like in Church. Punishment for sinning. Because we didn’t confess!”_

_“Confess what?”_

_“That we’re fucking! It’s a god damn fucking sin! We’re perverts and we killed her!”_

_Bucky turned him around and slapped him._

_The room went deadly silent. Bucky stared at him wide-eyed, an apology on his lips when Steve whispered, “Again.”_

_“What?!” Bucky fell back, sliding away from Steve. “No! God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. You were just— we’re not perverts! That’s not—“_

_Steve crawled in front of him, over the threadbare carpet of the living room and took his hand. He brought it up to his throat and wrapped it around his neck. Bucky shook his head but said nothing, did not move his hand._

_“Come on,” whispered Steve. “Do it. Come on…”_

_Bucky squeezed his hand just a little. It was firm against Steve’s neck but Steve could still breathe and that was the last thing he wanted. He pulled Bucky by the collar down to the ground on top of him, forcing him to brace against the floor and his neck._

_“Steve—“_

_He reached up and pulled Bucky’s hair roughly, “Come on!”_

_Bucky tightened his grip on his neck._

_“Hit me!”_

_“No—“_

_“Hit me!”_

_Bucky slapped him again. It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t hard enough at all. Steve dug his claws into Bucky’s wrist, holding his hand tight against his neck and snarled, pulling on his hair some more. writhing under him, grinding their hips together. Bucky froze, realizing that both of them were hard; they were barely twenty, it was only reasonable, but Steve knew Bucky didn’t want it; not like this._

_He was straddling Steve and slowly pulled his hand off of Steve’s neck. Steve thought he was going to get up and leave; leave him alone like he asked but he didn’t. He grabbed Steve’s wrists and brought them up over his head. He held them there with one hand and with the other ran a hand down his cheek, reverent and graceful. Some of his hair had fallen into his face as he looked down at Steve, out of it’s perfect slicked back coif, and he looked pale._

_He wrapped his hand around Steve’s neck once more and began to squeeze._

_“Yes…” Steve breathed out, eyes fluttering closed._

_Bucky squeezed harder. Steve bucked his hips up against Bucky and squirmed under him, getting harder. Bucky’s other hand slid down and Steve left his arms above him as Bucky started pulling at the button of Steve’s pants, leaning so close Steve could feel his breath on his skin._

_“Please…” Steve murmured. “Please.”_

_Bucky nodded against his face and now they were both fumbling with their clothes. Distantly Steve worried about wrinkling the nice suit Bucky had worn to the funeral. He worried about the way Bucky’s hands shook when they went over Steve’s prominent ribcage and about the way his breath hitched when Steve found his cock through his dress pants._

_Steve was naked, back against the cold wood of the apartment floor. Bucky moved to lay his jacket down on the floor for Steve to lie on but Steve slapped his hands away and pulled him back in into a bruising kiss._

_Bucky opened him up with spit — Steve wouldn’t let him get up and find the slick they kept in Steve’s nightstand — and it stung as Bucky pushed in so slowly and carefully. They usually didn’t do it this way. Steve usually fucked Bucky, but that’s not what he needed right now. Steve wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist and pulled him in as hard as he could. Bucky stroked his face and Steve turned and swallowed down his thumb, whorish and wanton, not allowing Bucky to comfort him. Bucky moved in and out, slow and cautious._

_“Harder,” Steve whispered._

_“Steve—“_

_“Harder!” Bucky braced himself on the floor at the side of Steve’s head and started going just a little harder. Steve growled and pulled him in, canting his hips up to meet him halfway. “Come on you fucker, do it! God, please!”_

_Bucky sighed and looked away from Steve and started pounding into him forcefully. Steve moaned his name loudly enough that Bucky reached up to cover his mouth. He bit Bucky’s hands and Bucky’s hips stuttered and started moving faster. He took Bucky’s hand and put it on his throat. Bucky got the idea and pressed down on Steve’s windpipe._

_It wasn’t hard enough; he could still breathe, still think. Bucky reached down to stroke Steve’s cock and Steve slapped his hand away._

_“Fuck me. Come on, harder. Please, harder…”_

_Bucky finally acquiesced and let go. It was hurting then, and it felt so right that Steve moaned again. He pulled Bucky’s head to his shoulder and Bucky bit down hard enough to break the skin a little bit and Steve keened into the quiet apartment._

_He came with a gasp when Bucky snuck down and found his cock and Bucky came inside of him a moment later._

_They lay panting on the floor. Steve hated it, but Bucky wrapped him up in his arms and ran a hand through his hair._

_Steve started crying. He couldn’t keep it in any longer, and Bucky eased it out of him. Bucky was so warm and big and solid and Steve was so scared. Steve lost track of time, it could have been minutes or hours or years he stayed in Bucky’s arms._

_“What if you die too?” he whispered finally._

_“I’m not going to die, Stevie,” Bucky whispered into his skin._

_“It’s my fault. She worked the TB ward because it paid better, and we needed the money.”_

_“She worked the TB ward because that was her job. She knew the risks.”_

_Steve did not respond for a moment, he shivered and Bucky found his suit jacket and draped it over the both of them where they lay. Steve didn’t protest but part of him wanted to. He wanted to be cold and uncomfortable and hurt right now, not warm in Bucky’s arms. He didn’t deserve that._

_“Don’t enlist,” he said after a long while._

_“What?”_

_“All that shit going down in Europe, it’s only a matter of time before it comes to us. Don’t enlist.”_

_“I won’t. I promise.”_

_“I can’t lose you too.”_

_“You won’t.”_

Please don’t leave me. _Steve didn’t say it but he was thinking it loud enough that he was sure that Bucky could hear him. It was one of those phrases that was always running in Steve’s mind when things got too quiet. Bucky could hear it, Steve knew. He would never say it out loud, but he knew Bucky could hear it whenever there was silence between them. Bucky was too good to him. Steve never felt more pathetic then when the two of them grew quiet. He loved being with Bucky. He loved Bucky. But he’d never say it, never out loud._

_“I love you, Steve,” a voice said next to him._

_Steve did not respond, could not respond, but pressed his face into Bucky’s chest and started crying softly once more. Bucky’s hand on his back was so, so warm._

That's good to know _, he thought absently as he let Bucky hold him._ Thank god for that...

* * *

This was a pain that was beyond screaming. He could not think. Sometimes his eyes were opened, and sometimes they were closed, but at least when he looked ahead of him between thrashing out at the pain, Bucky was there, watching him protectively.

It was quiet in the apartment. Bucky and Brock would murmur encouraging things from far, far away. Steve was getting lost within himself. He thought he had understood the phrase ‘life flashing before your eyes’ when he had crashed the plane, but it was nothing compared to this. Everything was wrong. His memories were more raw, more pained than they were when he had lived through them, painted black and horrible by the Tentacle. He was scared. He would think of his mother, of Bucky, of the photograph of a father he didn’t remember. Their eyes turned black, and their teeth grew long as Steve remembered conversations with the people he loved. There were shadows in the corners of his childhood home, and there were claws when he remembered touches meant to be comforting.

There was noise outside of his awareness. People yelling, more people than were in the apartment with him. Loud bangs like gunshots, movement over him and around him. He opened his eyes, and Bucky was not there.

“No…” he breathed out. “Bu—buck—“

More shouting, more movement and he could not see Bucky. He was reaching out as much as he could, trying to find Bucky’s hand once more. The soft duvet under his hand was too soft, the air was stinging his skin. 

“Please,” he whispered. “Please…”

“Steve?” a voice said above him. “Steve, talk to me.”

He blinked and tried to focus. There was something red in front of him, pale skin and fine features.

“Steve, Steve, it’s me, it’s Natasha. Can you hear me?”

“Please,” he whispered once more. “Bucky…”

Someone touched the Tentacle and he screamed then. 

_“I love you, Steve,” Bucky said to him._

“Please…” he was reaching forward into the air, trying to find him. “I’m sorry.” Bucky wasn’t there. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Steve, we need to get this off of you.”

“Please, please don’t leave me…”

Everything stopped. The sound of metal clattering against the duvet was all he could hear. A breath of air touched his back and he realized the Tentacle had fallen off. It was over.

 _“Please don’t leave me, please…”_ that was the only thing he could think, that was the only thing that was in his head. He had given up to it. He would die with that thought in his mind.

Small hands cupped his face. “Steve. Hey, Rogers… come on, look at me. Help me out here big guy.”

Natasha turned his head and he was blinking up at her. It was chaotic around him. There were so many people and Steve flinched away, back towards the couch. SHIELD agents were running around, shouting orders. Natasha was pushing Steve up to his feet, and suddenly Clint was there on his other side, holding him up. They were walking him out of the apartment. He spared a glance at the Tentacle, at the briefcase and saw something glowing.

13:06.

Just one second less than Bucky.

The apartment was under siege and the door was open. Clint was pushing him towards it, and he had wanted it to open so much before, but now he couldn’t even imagine going through that door into the hallway of Brock’s building.

Only it wasn’t Brock’s building. They stepped out and it wasn’t Brock’s building. It looked like a warehouse. Steve balked and stumbled back and Clint barely caught him. It was just like waking up from the ice. The apartment was a set, like in a movie. Steve screamed and flailed against the arms and fell to the ground. It was cement underneath him. There was a table with computers and SHIELD agents dismantling them and taking the files off of the hard drives. There were screens with security footage looking inside the fake apartment, a body on the floor foaming at the mouth from a cyanide pill.

Steve took it all in and could not take any of it in. His whole mind had shut down. He blinked up at Natasha and Clint’s concerned face. Bucky had left him. That was the last thing he remembered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Betsy and am actually three gremlins wearing a very long coat instead of a person. Sorry for the long delay between chapter updates. Things have been whacky and I got distracted by a different porn I wrote.
> 
> Also, holy shit, Steve. Poor Steeb, oh my god, Steeeeeb.
> 
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	19. Chapter 19

When Natasha Romanoff heard that Steve had taken a vacation, part of her had been glad. If anyone needed it, it was Steve Rogers. That small part of her had a fun fifteen seconds imagining Steve on a beach, or Steve hiking in the woods, or Steve sitting in a coffee shop without a care in the world. She imagined Steve smiling, the way she had noticed him smiling at Rumlow sometimes when the thought no one was looking.

She despised Rumlow. She knew the man was fucking Steve, but so far Steve had not mentioned it, so she would let him have this secret. Or she _guessed_ he was fucking Steve. Call it a spy’s intuition, but she had yet to see any physical proof. Steve seemed happier after his nights with Agent Rumlow so she could not begrudge him that. He deserved to be happy, even if he was finding it in the wrong places. The new world grated on him terribly, solace was hard to come by. She could relate. She had had a string of very bad, very stupid interactions when she first joined SHIELD herself. It had been something to do with having the freedom to fuck up, to experiment, she supposed. That seemed like what Steve must be doing.

But Clint had called her out on it. That was the difference.

She would need to talk to Steve about this. About Agent Rumlow. The man was no good; Steve could do better. Maybe that was it, she mused. Steve had such low self confidence for a man built to be perfect that it left Natasha reeling sometimes. Hell, maybe the super soldier serum amplified that. Maybe he did not believe he could do any better.

But still… _Rumlow_? Really? _Anyone_ would be better than Rumlow. She knew terrifying assassins and killers and criminals who would be better than Rumlow.

God, she hated Rumlow.

She had been sitting at one of the computers near the conference room when she heard about the ‘vacation’ while snooping on someone else’s conversation and her curiosity piqued. Sure, fifteen seconds had been spent imagining Steve with a Mai Tai on a beach in ridiculously small swim trunks — she thought she might sneak around figure out where he went, snap a few blackmail shots, tease him mercilessly — but after that she got down to business. With a few quick keystrokes she was in the SHIELD system, looking through the admin console. She pulled up Steve Rogers’ file and perused through it.

_Vacation request filed; APPROVED. Two (2) Weeks._

She squinted. She started poking deeper into the system, past the admin console into the coding. She was not quite sure what she was looking for, but she would know it when she saw it.

 •

_[request filed; 12:01.27am. approved; 12:02.03am.]_

_[request filed; b.rumlow@shield.gov.]_

_[request approved; b.rumlow@shield.gov.]_

 •

She snorted. Rumlow hacked the system to get Steve vacation time. That was almost cute. Unnecessary, though. Looked like Steve had accrued the vacation hours already, it would have been approved. Hell, even Captain America deserved a vacation every now and then, and things had been slow. Even if the admin systems hadn’t allowed it — Captain America was more often than not ‘on call’ despite the fact that Steve Rogers was technically only human, enhanced or not — Fury would have approved if Steve asked.

She thought about it, and it seemed like it was almost a ‘good boyfriend’ deed. In a completely different world, she thought maybe Rumlow was being _nice_ to Steve, and helping him get days off without having to deal with Fury. But it didn’t feel nice. It felt off. Natasha didn’t know why it felt off, but it did.

She grumbled about it to herself — Clint was on vacation too, but she knew he was just back in Idaho — and tried to go about her day.

* * *

When Natasha saw Rumlow at work a few days later, she was not quite sure what to make of it. Part of her sent up a small prayer; _‘please tell me they broke up! Please!’_ but she knew just by looking at him that it wasn’t the case. She could almost smell the sex on him, smell Steve on him. Maybe they were just trying to maintain a cover. “Steve was on vacation, but Rumlow was at work; they couldn’t possibly be fucking.”

It was clever, really. She had to give them that. Well, not terribly clever, but clever enough. They shouldn’t have to be master spies in their own jobs.

If she had been dating Rumlow she’d want to keep it a secret too. The man was such slime.

* * *

Steve was not answering his phone. He was on vacation, he didn’t have to, but still… Natasha mostly just wanted to tease him about something, anything; it was one of her few joys. If Steve were on a beach without a shirt, she’d bet she could get him to blush all the way down to his belly button. It had been a long time goal of hers to see that.

 _One day,_ the part of her brain that tended to wander mused.

The part of her brain that was always ‘on’ though, was not so easily distracted. She knew, logically that there were a myriad of reasons Steve would not answer his phone. He _was_ on vacation. He did not have to answer his phone, but this was Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was so painfully responsible it made Natasha want to scream. He was so reliable, like that geyser Clint had taken her to when she first joined up that was not really that impressive. He would at least text her back saying he couldn’t come to the phone right now.

He would have texted her before he left for anywhere without a phone.

Something was off.

At the end of the fourth day without any contact, Natasha had no other choice.

She found her phone and dialed.

“Hill? It’s Romanoff. I need some coverage.”

“You got a lead on something?”

“No.” She looked at the wall, at the floor. “I just need to be allowed to poke around for a bit.”

“Poke around where?”

“I’m not sure yet. Just checking some credit card lines, phone locations.”

“I trust you, but you know I can’t approve that without a good reason.”

“I know.”

“Well?”

“If I tell you, you’re going to have to take action, and I don’t want that.”

“There’s only a few situations where I’m legally obligated to take action.”

“I know. I read your file—“

“You really shouldn’t be doing that—“

“This is one of those situations.” Natasha swallowed. “Or it may be. It may be nothing.”

“It may be nothing?” Maria was quiet on the other end for a moment before Natasha heard her let out a small sigh. Natasha could almost hear her thinking out how this would work. After a beat she spoke again, deadpan and now Natasha could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “You know, there’s been some weird transactions at National Bank. There’s a few people, tellers, involved. I wouldn’t normally ask you to do something I usually leave to the interns, but wouldn’t you know it, they’re all very busy.”

“What would it entail?” Natasha asked smoothly.

“Not much, just checking on some credit card lines, phone locations.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Not unless it’s something.”

“Give Nick my best.”

“He might be giving you a call. He’s got an account at National, you know.”

“He seems more like a money stuffed in the mattress kind of guy.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Bye, Maria.”

* * *

Natasha pulled out her laptop and started tapping away in her chair in her apartment. It was dark outside, the night a deep navy marred only by the street lamps and car headlights on the streets below her window. She bit her lip as she stared at the screen, opening up a new research file.

 _name of new project?_ the screen prompted her.

 _National Bank Report,_ she typed out easily.

_project nickname?_

She paused. Project nicknames more often than not turned into official operation names. Clint had been helping the DEA with some cartel action in Miami and jokingly nicknamed the report “banana hammock” and for three weeks had been forced to give daily status reports to a his superiors, his handlers and Nicky Fury himself about “Operation Banana Hammock” with a straight face.

What if Steve _was_ just on vacation? Where would Steve go? They talked about it once. She was a Paris or Barcelona girl. Big, European cities. She’d settle for New York in a pinch. She thought he would’ve too when she first me him, but that didn’t seem to quite fit when she got to know him better. He was a little too tired for city life, though he’d never admit it in mixed company.

* * *

_“No… Well, maybe. I like New York, but it’s too different nowadays,” he said running his hand through his hair. Natasha had finally convinced him to get it cut and it looked nice and modern and he was not used to it at all. They were chatting in a cafe near the barber’s — an honest to goodness, old fashioned men’s barber, complete with a barber pole outside of his shop — and Steve did not even see the two baristas checking him out. “I’d probably go somewhere new.”_

_That surprised Natasha. “Really? Like where?”_

_“I don’t know. There was—“ he stopped himself, a mulish look on his face._

_“What? You can tell me.”_

_“It’s dumb.”_

_“I bet it’s not.”_

_“California.” He looked so apologetic about it she almost laughed, but held it in. “Santa Cruz. It’s just this little beach town. I saw something about it on TV and looked it up… it seems nice.”_

_“Santa Cruz is nice.”_

_“You’ve been?”_

_“Yeah. Had a job at the university there.”_

_“A job like working at the school library, or like taking out a target?”_

_“Can’t it be both?”_

_“Was it both?”_

_It wasn’t both. She was just taking out a target, but Steve didn’t need to know that._

_“Santa Cruz is nice,” she repeated, chuckling at the look he gave her. “You’d really like it, I think. I mean, never pegged you for a beach town kinda guy, but I can see it now. It’d be a good vacation. There’s a dinky little theme park at the boardwalk there. Like a mini Coney Island.”_

_“Do you ever want to run away?” he asked. For anyone else it would have felt like it was out of the blue, but Natasha guessed it would be coming from him soon._

_“Yes,” she answered. “Sometimes I think about it every day for weeks without it letting up.”_

_“Why don’t you?”_

_“Because it’s not in our nature, Steve.”_

_“Ever? I never get to be a person again?”_

_“We’re a different kind of person.”_

_He stopped talking and looked into his coffee cup. It felt like the cafe around them had grown quiet, making the silence between them that much heavier. He was tired, she realized. She gave him a sad smile and reached across the table to pat his hand. She tried not to think she’d be sad too if she was sharing a bed with dumbass Brock Rumlow; she squashed that thought down. That was mean. He smiled back at her._

_“Come on, we’ve got time to go walk around a bit before the brief. Let’s get you some fresh air.”_

_They went and strolled for a little while, arm in arm, the silence growing more comfortable between them as time passed. He wasn’t meant to be here, she knew that. He wasn’t meant to be in this century. All the world thought he was handling it so well, but she thought different._

_“That’s where I’d run away to,” he said softly._

_“Santa Cruz?”_

_“Yeah.” He smiled once more at her and it was genuine. “It looked really nice, Natasha.”_

_“It is. You’d like it there.”_

_He snorted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Good to know.”_

* * *

She stared at the screen.

_project nickname?_

_Santa Cruz._

* * *

There was nothing wrong. It looked like Steve was taking a trip on his motorcycle. He would stop at tiny little places along the way, pay for tourist-y things with his credit card, find a hotel or bed and breakfast and move on. He was making a meandering trip along the coast, she guessed ending in New York, driving around New England a bit before making his way back to D.C. He was always only a few hours out of town. Seemed like him, if she was being honest. It really seemed like Steve’s ‘just in case’ mentality kicking in and keeping him on a tether, even on his vacation.

There was nothing wrong at all.

Except his phone was off, and it seemed like there was nothing wrong. It nagged at her terribly but she could not hammer out why.

She pulled out her phone. The line rang once, twice—

“This is Barton.”

“Clint, I need you to go on a road trip.”

“I’m off this week, Nat. There’s a few people here that won’t take too kindly to you putting me to work on my vacation.” Nat cursed inwardly, remembering Barton was going home. Laura was going to kill her. But Laura would kill her if she let something happen to Steve Rogers too. 

“It’s important.”

“So’s this. We talked about this, Nat. All work and no play, boundaries, all that stuff us spies are supposed to watch out for. Otherwise we turn into dicks.”

“This isn’t me being a dick, this actually _is_ important.”

“Can you tell me? I can’t go off on an adventure without a good reason.”

“I just—“ she stopped herself, biting her lip.

“What is it, Nat?” His voice went a little softer.

“I need you to go check on something for me. I don’t know if it’s anything, but if it’s something, it’s bad.”

“Are you sure?”

“You said I gotta trust my gut, right?”

“I was talking about the menu at that Applebee’s in Manteca after the op in California.”

“Listen to my voice. I don’t know if it’s anything. But I think it’s something.”

Clint was quiet on the other end. Natasha could hear him murmuring to someone else in the room. Laura. Oh god, if this was nothing Laura was going to kill her. She’d deserve it. Clint hadn’t been home in months.

“You’re really freaked out?”

She took a deep breath. “I think Steve might be in trouble.”

* * *

“So he’s been buying something food-like around 4:00 each afternoon before finding a hotel to stay at for the night. Looking at his trajectory, I’m thinking he’ll be at the Savemart on 23rd and Winton.”

“I’m already there. No sign of our big, blonde babe.”

“Don’t call him that.” Natasha’s computer pinged. “Right on schedule. He used his card. Should be coming out any minute.”

“I’ve got eyes on both exits. Stand by.”

Natasha was quiet, waiting to hear what Clint would say. The purchase on the card was not that expensive. Less than $15 worth of food, and that alone seemed odd, since Steve Rogers needed a lot more food than a normal person. She sighed, gnawing at her lip.

She heard Clint curse quietly under his breath.

“What is it?” Natasha asked.

“Give me a minute.”

“Clint?”

“I’m hiding, give a minute,” he hissed into his earpiece. Natasha shut up. She could almost imagine him darting between cars in the parking lot. But what in god’s name was he hiding from? They decided if they saw Steve they would say that they were tracking someone in the area who was getting too close to him. Unless…

“Not Steve,” he said quietly. “It’s not Steve.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Jack Rollins.”

Natasha grew still though her mind was racing. That made absolutely no sense. But it also made perfect sense. Jack Rollins and Brock Rumlow were thick as thieves. But Rollins did not disgust her nearly as much as Rumlow. Chalk it up to her spy skills, but she could tell Rollins had been through the wringer. She had more pity than animosity for the man. But he was not her favorite person ever. Rollins actually confused Natasha if she was being perfectly honest. He was both incredibly difficult and incredibly easy to read. Either way she did not trust him.

“Natasha, did you hear me? It’s Jack Rollins.”

“I hear you,” she replied. “Get back here. I’m going to call Hill.”

“And Fury.”

She let out a low curse. “Yeah. And Fury.”

“See you soon.”

* * *

Natasha told Hill who told Fury. But then they didn’t meet in Fury’s office. Hill sent her coordinates for a location she had never heard of or been to before. It was a pack-it-yourself storage facility. Night had fallen and Natasha crept through the rows of storage units hidden in the shadows until she found the one at the far end of the property. The shed was open and she saw the glow of advanced tech coming from within.

“New office?” she asked when she stepped into the light.

“Bit of an infestation at mine. Can’t be too careful until I get it fumigated,” Nick replied.

 _Infestation_. He thought his office was bugged. It probably was, though if anyone was as paranoid as Nick Fury it was Natasha so she might have been a little biased.

“Close the door,” Maria said softly, stepping up behind her with a pizza box.

“Barton’s coming.”

“Fuck. Should’ve gotten two pizzas.”

“He’ll probably bring his own.”

Nick and Natasha quirked an eyebrow in assent and sat quietly for a few moments. It made sense to keep this on the down-low until it was official that something was wrong, but they all _knew_ now that something was wrong There was a deep seated trust amongst them that was hard to shake. Maria and Nick trusted Natasha’s gut instinct as much as she trusted theirs, Clint likewise though he was prone to teasing and playing devil’s advocate sometimes, especially with Natasha. Or really, he just liked teasing Natasha.

“Who likes Hawaiin style pizza?”

“That’s a fucking abomination and you know it, Barton,” Maria replied as Clint stepped into the the storage shed and reached up to pull the door down after him. “How did you find this place anyway? Natasha wouldn’t give you the coordinates.”

“I planted a tracker on her. I hid it with a tattoo on her butt. It’s very tasteful; a heart that says ‘C+N’ with flames.”

“Stands for Clint and Nick,” Natasha smirked. “Your romance is so secret you can’t even get a tattoo, but I’ve got you covered.”

“Seriously, Barton. How’d you know to come here?”

Clint gave her a level look. “I’m a spy. I pick shit up.”

“You need a new handler.”

“We had a pretty good one, but Nick here used his death as incentive to kill some aliens.”

“That’s enough, Barton,” Nick said from his desk.

“Sorry sir, this is my week off is all. And Steve Rogers is missing which is kind of terrifying. Got a lot of reasons to feel punchy, you understand.”

There it was. Nick, Maria and Natasha herself were keeping their concern contained, but Clint had no such inclinations.Out in the open like that the weight of their situation settled in the air of the little storage shed, heavy and fetid.

Steve Rogers was missing.

Natasha looked down at her feet for a moment, collecting herself. She sighed and took a piece of pizza, nodding at Nick who handed her a paper plate.

“So, before I take this to Pierce I want to know everything,” Nick said.

Natasha took a bite of pizza, chewed and swallowed before responding. “I believe that Agent Rumlow has kidnapped Steve Rogers and is working with Agent Rollins to maintain that he is on vacation to keep us from looking for him.”

“To what end? What’s his motivation?”

Natasha frowned, “I don’t know.”

“How do you know it’s Agent Rumlow?”

“He’s the one who hacked into the computer to get Steve the vacation time.”

“Is there any other reason he would do that?”

“They’re… dating.”

That was an odd thing to say out loud. Even now Natasha wasn’t sure she believed it herself. It was not really that believable at all.

“Sure. And I’m the Princess of Sokovia,” Nick said after a moment. “Do you have any proof?”

“I’m a spy. I pick shit up.”

“Nat…” Clint murmured, but she could hear the amusement in his voice.

“No,” she said. “I don’t have any proof. Sometimes you just know.”

“You’d think a guy like Steve wouldn’t settle for a guy like that.”

“You’d think…”

Natasha relayed all the facts she knew, and even then it didn’t feel like she knew enough. It was speculation. She speculated that Rumlow and Steve were dating. She speculated that Rumlow was the reason Steve was missing. She speculated that Rumlow and Rollins were invested in something shady by using Steve’s card around the area to pretend he was on vacation. Even now she realized that they could be pretending just in case Steve had a tail and wanted some actual alone time. Steve might have asked them to do it. She speculated that something was wrong, and that Rumlow was responsible.

But why? He had shown up at work during Steve’s ‘vacation.’ On what planet would you leave a kidnap victim unattended? You’d only do it if you could guarantee that they couldn’t escape, and how could Rumlow get access to the type of things that would keep Steve Rogers contained? Maybe Rollins was there, but the credit card charges suggested he was moving Steve’s card around. Was there anyone else involved?

How many people _could_ be involved in kidnapping Steve Rogers?

Who would want to kidnap Steve Rogers who could buy Rumlow? He was an asshole but there was a perverse thread of loyalty in him. It wasn’t anything specific, but Natasha knew the man had a cause that he would die to defend. You could see it in the way he held himself. There was something at his back.

Natasha had assumed it was SHIELD. SHIELD garnered loyalty pretty well. Hell, they had found her and kept her. She could be bought, she knew that, but it was easy to imagine that someone could fall for SHIELD with their whole being. Phil Coulson had been fiercely loyal to SHIELD.

Yeah, but she _liked_ Phil Coulson. Rumlow was such a fucknugget.

So who wanted Steve Rogers? She could list plenty of baddies who wanted Steve Rogers. Honestly, she could name several ‘good’ organizations that would ‘kidnap’ him too.

The only reason Steve was staying with SHIELD was because it was Peggy Carter’s legacy. He had his doubts about the organization. Maybe he was fine. Maybe he was being schmoozed by some other group of people, being convinced to fight their causes for them, either on the battlefield or off of it.

No, that didn’t make sense. If that were the case why go through Rumlow? Why not just have coffee with Steve? Why fabricate a ‘vacation’? Through the SHIELD system?

Possibly for the same reason the four of them weren’t meeting in a SHIELD office now. They were meeting in a storage shed with no cameras and probably not even listed under Nick’s name. It was probably under the name of one or two or three or seventeen shell-dummy corporations if she knew Nick.

So there was something wrong with SHIELD. There was something wrong with Rumlow who was fiercely loyal to SHIELD. But really, he couldn’t be loyal to SHIELD, he wasn’t that man. He was loyal to something in SHIELD. He was loyal to that wrong something in SHIELD that had Nick Fury meeting people off the books in a storage shed.

What in god’s name was going on?

Being a spy was fucking exhausting.

“Shaky though it is, Rumlow is our only lead right now,” Nick said. “We start with him.”

“We making a case of this?” Clint asked.

“No. We’re finding Rogers. If during that project we find out enough to make a presentable case then we’ll do that too. Something a little more solid than our defecting Soviet Assassin thinks he was dating a guy she is notorious for hating.”

“It’s completely valid.”

“I never said it wasn’t, Romanoff.”

* * *

 

They raided Rumlow’s apartment and found it empty. That was both incredibly validating and incredibly frustrating. Natasha threw her hair over her shoulder and smirked at Clint.

“He could be getting groceries,” Clint said derisively. His voice was a whisper. The apartment was empty, but no one else in the building needed to know they were there.

“Yeah at DoucheMart. Special on hair gel at—” she checked her watch. “2:13 in the morning. Actually knowing Rumlow that sounds reasonable.”

Clint snorted, but only because that was easier than trying to figure out what to do next. Maria was murmuring into her mic with Fury, Natasha could see her concerned face in the odd glow of the night-vision goggles.

“Search it,” Maria said.

“Initial spec looks clean,” Clint reported. “One to two occupants, male.” He opened the nightstand drawer and peaked inside. “Sexually active; not small if we’re going by condom size.”

“Ew.”

“Agent 13 has reported that Steve regularly returned to his apartment each night,” said Maria.”

“Yeah, but did he sleep there?”

“Steve knew he was being watched,” Natasha mentioned. “He didn’t know about Sharon but he knew there were eyes on him. He said he’d sneak out of his window sometimes.”

“But he didn’t tell you he was going to fuck Rumlow?”

“I think Rumlow was fucking him,” Natasha said.

“That… actually makes sense.”

“How so?” Maria asked. “Hell, he went on a date with me before we realized we were better off friends. I didn’t even think he was into guys.”

“That explains it even better,” Clint said with a chuckle.

“How?”

Natasha switched to the heat-vision option on the heads-up display on her goggles to see Clint’s face glow a little brighter.

“You. You’re kind of, well… dominant,” he said at last, rubbing the back of his neck and poking around the apartment out of arms-reach from Maria. “And he’s kind of into that sort of thing. He was probably too scared to bring it up to you ever and decided it was easier to be masochistically alone.”

“How do you even know he’s into that sort of thing?”

“I’m a spy.” He was pointedly not looking at either of them. But Natasha knew he could feel both of the women staring at him. “And he told me so,” he said at last. “It was late after a mission. We were both very tired.”

“He told you he wanted to be masochistically alone?”

“He told me he was submissive and bi.”

“How does he even know those words?”

“Gosh, the internet is so helpful,” Clint said doing a nearly pitch-perfect impression of Steve. “I’m really learning a lot.”

Natasha snorted, but Maria did not respond other than to say, “Did Cap ever tell you he was interested in drugs, Clint?”

“No. Said he couldn’t get drunk, figured it was the same with anything else. Why?”

“Because there’s a syringe under the kitchen island.”

Natasha followed Maria’s line of sight. At first she could not see what she was talking about and flicked through the settings on her HUD before a high contrast image clicked into place. There it was. A syringe. Hidden out of sight in the dark shadows under the kitchen island. Not just any syringe either. It was empty. It was familiar.

It was a SHIELD issue, glass, Safe-T syringe. She could tell by the small handle. They were not available for public use.

Clint snapped on some rubber gloves and pulled out an evidence bag from his pocket, bending down to pick it up. He glanced at the label.

“Huh…”

“What was in it?”

“Can’t pronounce it, but it’s…” he trailed off, frowning.

“What?”

“You sure they were having sex, Nat?”

“Pretty sure. Why?”

He frowned, glancing up at them. “If they were already having sex, he wouldn’t need this. It’s a high dosage aphrodisiac.” He bit his lip and looked around the room. “Mixed with some other stuff. The label makes me think it’s amped up for his serum. Disorienting chems like we use in interrogations sometimes…”

He fell quiet and that new information sank in. Sure, they could joke about Steve being a subby guy, about him dating Brock Rumlow but Natasha had never actually been able to confirm that they had sex. What if they hadn’t? What if Brock had had enough and…

And what? Drugged, kidnapped and raped virginal Steve Rogers who was waiting for ‘the right partner’?

With a SHIELD syringe no less.

“We’re all thinking the same thing, right?” Maria said. “Date-rape kidnapping with possible ulterior motive with support from SHIELD personnel?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m getting,” Clint murmured.

Natasha only nodded.

Maria scoffed. “Jesus Christ.”

“What the fuck is going on?” said Clint, voice low. Natasha was thinking the exact same thing.

* * *

Nick brought them pancakes and coffee when they met back at the storage shed early in the morning. They were quiet, poking around with some ideas about how to proceed. Nick and Maria would gather and clear the schedules of the personnel necessary and start the hunt for Steve quietly, informing Pierce and anyone who was needing to know by the end of the day. But it was level seven clearance. Clint and Natasha were not even supposed to know, and Nick was planning not to reveal their involvement any time soon, if ever. It would be the world’s most silent manhunt.

So they ate and drank their coffee quietly and left the storage shed.

They went to work. Clint crashed at Natasha’s place because he was supposed to be on vacation anyway and miles away, and Natasha met up for the usual Thursday morning STRIKE team meetings. She stayed in the back. Technically she and Clint were STRIKE Team Delta, but usually they floated between teams as backup. If they were called in officially as Team Delta is was because that was the last resort. If STRIKE Teams Alpha, Beta and Charlie couldn’t handle something it had to be big.

Rumor had it that there was no STRIKE Team Echo, and STRIKE Team Foxtrot was comprised only of Melinda May. Because you only called in Melinda May when things were really, _really_ Foxtrot… really, really _fucked_.

Natasha wondered if they would need Melinda for this.

The meeting went smoothly. Jack Rollins was there though. She examined him for a moment, meeting his eye when he turned and caught her staring. She was terrifying, even as she gazed at him with a fairly neutral expression, perhaps a little curiosity written on her face, but only because being completely expressionless was off-putting. She could stare down Rollins, looking curious, seductive, constipated or otherwise. The man was not nearly as intimidating as he wanted to seem. And he was friends with Rumlow. That alone was indicative of obvious severe mental trauma because who could be so stupid to—

No. It was indicative of something. Natasha thought about it for a moment. Jack Rollins was loyal to Rumlow who was loyal to _something_ deep within the ugly bowls of SHIELD. Perhaps Rollins was loyal to that something too.

Her phone pinged with an alert that Steve’s card had been charged again for his scheduled morning breakfast. She pretended to smile at a non-existent text message. She scanned the room. David ‘Davey’ Jameson wasn’t here. He had started off okay about a year and a half ago, but had fallen in with Rollins and therefore Rumlow, so it was an easy step to conclude that he had traded off with Rollins in the card-swiping caper. He was a young kid, it was a fucking shame.

This was how gangs worked, she mused. Loyalty, picking on people who were susceptible to coercion; the young, the easy to manipulate, the insecure.

She considered for a moment that that included Steve as well as Davey. No one would think that looking at Captain America, but Steve? Steve _was_ young and so, so lost. She dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter now.

What kind of gang would kidnap Steve then?

Usual suspects popped up in her mind as a SHIELD admin man went over protocol reviews in the meeting. She sipped her coffee. There were the terrorists like ISIS and the Ten Rings, but this didn’t feel like their style. There were dozens of ‘People’s Republics of Choose Your Country Here’ that might have an issue with the America side of Captain America. He had even pissed off a fair number of people back in the states. The MRA’s and Pro-lifers hated him after he made a few innocuous statements, but they were both too fucking useless to pull off a stunt like this, nor would they want to, she suspected. The Animal Rights groups got noisy when he recalled a story from the war where his friend, Barnes, had killed a cow wandering across the field between skirmishes.

She mentally rattled off some more as she sipped her coffee, nixing groups like the SLA, UFF, Weathermen, AOG, ALF because they weren’t active. The drug cartels had the manpower but not the motive, the Klan had the motive but not the man power unless they got in bed with the Aryans and the skinheads and the neo-Nazis—

She paused. _Nazis_. Why was that sticking in her mind?

It wasn’t neo-Nazis. She knew that already. Their channels were quiet on the initial sweep she and Clint ran for one thing, and this didn’t fit their M.O. for another. Rumlow officially wasn’t a neo-Nazi. SHIELD conducted psych tests for that sort of thing. They were hard to circumvent, even for a man as smart as Rumlow, though she was loathe to admit he was smart. But she had read his file. Smart and not a neo-Nazi.

But then what the hell was he?

Nazis. Why in god’s name could she not work past that?Her World War Two knowledge was actually shitty, relatively speaking. Sure, she knew more than the average college history professor on the subject, but less than a professor who was a World War Two specialist. That was Steve’s war though. The more she got to know Steve the more she meant to peruse a book about the subject and gab with him about it. She catalogued the chronology of his engagements. Africa for a spell after he rescued the 107th, but then back in Europe for the most part. Italy, Eastern France in the mountains, and Germany. A few weeks in Denmark. He and the Howling Commandos pioneered small unit, close-combat fighting styles that they still studied at Westpoint. They were brutal and efficient soldiers against the Nazis.

No. Against Hydra.

_Hydra…_

“Agent Romanoff,” Rollins nodded at her, stepping up to her. The meeting was over, people were filing out of the room. “You seem distracted.”

She blinked at him, not allowing herself to startle, assessing, face neutral with a thin veneer of amusement that she found men liked and responded to. “Just bored. Since when have I been interested in protocol?”

“I thought as much.”

“Can I help you with something?”

“Just checking in, ma’am.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“Well I see a lady like you making eyes at a guy like me, I know there’s something wrong.”

“I’m not sure what to address first, the fact that you think I made eyes at you, or that you think there’s something wrong.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. It’s near unsettling to be studied like that. I’m used to fading into the background.”

Natasha knew that about him. It actually made him an invaluable addition to any deep cover mission. He was taller than Steve and whiter to boot, but one time even she lost track of him in the middle of Somalia. They had been one hundred yards away from each other making a perimeter and he disappeared in plain sight.

“Everything’s fine,” she lied easily. “Might need more coffee though. I think you were just unfortunate enough to be in my line of sight while I was zoning out.”

“It’s been that kinda morning.”

“It certainly has.” 

At this point she knew an amateur would poke around for information. Maybe saying something along the lines of, “I wish I was on vacation like Cap.” That would put things in motion faster than a gunshot, and with everything that was going on, Natasha suspected there might be a few of those too. Thankfully, Natasha was no amateur, though neither was Jack Rollins. He could have easily said something in a similar vein if he was looking to see what she knew, which she was certain was what he was doing here, but there was also something else underneath the surface that she could not quite piece together.

Instead she gave him a soft smile, batted her eyes just barely. “But there’s no need to be so tough on yourself. It’s not like you’re that hard on the eyes.”

Misdirect, shift the hip to draw attention to the chest, look like Natasha Romanoff. She was good at these things, and she was good at pretending she wasn’t using these things either. She was a master at pretending to be normal. She shrugged a little and checked her phone, took a sip of coffee — draw the gaze downward, draw the gaze to her lips.

“That’s nice of you to say, Romanoff.”

She quirked her lips. Men liked their female coworkers to be friendly as fuck, curious, and who provided ample opportunity for men to explain things and tell stories. “It’s true,” she replied. She then ‘assessed’ him openly, pretending to be trying to figure him out, as if she needed that. She could read him without even looking at him. “Oh,” she said softly. “It’s not because of the…” she gestured to her own chin, eyes looking down the scar on his face before popping up to meet his gaze once more. “Girls really actually like that sort of thing.”

“You think so, huh?” he asked. He was playing her a little, she noticed. But he was not on guard, just not interested in fucking her at that very moment (at least not beyond the basic male interest in fucking her. She was fuckable. It was part of her charm).

“I know so. Besides, people in our line of work get scars. Yours makes you look mysterious.”

“You got any scars then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She said, grinning, just barely winking. He smirked back. “Yeah, I’ve got scars.”

“You look flawless, if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am.”

“You’re too nice,” she said again. “But you know me well enough to know I’m anything but.”

“Girls without history are boring anyhow.”

“I’ll second that.”

“So where are these scars? Nothing too bad, I hope.”

She would have to thank the Winter Soldier. She always had an in with tough guys thanks to that bullet wound. She smirked and lifted her shirt and pulled her pants down to reveal the puckered pink mark on her hip.

“Shit girl,” he said low. “Gunshot?”

“Close range too.”

He clicked his tongue. “You poor thing.” Years of training was the only reason she didn’t roll her eyes. His hand twitched a little. “May I?”

She pretended to look around the room. “Alright,” she said, a little shy, when she ascertained the room was ‘clear.’ There were cameras. She imagined Nick was watching her do this right now.

He reached over and brushed his thumb lightly over the scar. She had to force herself to translate a small shiver into a cute little wriggle. “Sorry, ticklish.”

He chuckled at that before his eyes turned back to the scar. “Who did you wrong then, huh?”

“More men than I care to count.”

“You deserve better.”

Their eyes met. She did not respond for a moment.

“Not like a working girl like me has time for that sort of thing,” she replied at last.

“Still.” He stepped back, shrugged, turned a little shy — probably learned that sort of body language from watching Steve. There was almost something endearing about the way he hunched his shoulders a little and put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. It’s just unnecessary pain. You deserve better.”

She would have said, “That’s sweet of you,” but she had already said that twice. The phrase ‘unnecessary pain’ felt a little odd too. She filed it away.

“That’s just how the cookie crumbles,” she replied instead. Men liked it when their female coworkers were cute.

“Things can be chaotic. Your life especially. I’ve skimmed your file.”

“No more chaotic than anyone else’s here.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

“I don’t,” she said with a little grin. “But it’s easier than…” she drifted off, shrugged a little, met his eye again. “Acknowledging it, I guess. Going down that road is pretty grim, truth be told.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“Not your fault.”

“Still,” he said again. “Things can be better. Don’t you ever think if you could change things you would?”

She frowned a little, but turned her body to be facing him more directly, open and expectant, though the movement itself was subtle enough that he probably would not notice it if he were an average joe. But he was highly trained, so she was hoping it read as flirty and ‘accidental spy habit’ rather than manipulative if he did catch it.

“How?”

The question was genuine. Natasha was not actually sure at all what he had meant by that. She would have been almost intrigued if she could stop herself from picturing Steve drugged and raped by Rumlow. With the way this conversation was going she had expected him to make advances of a personal nature. That was not what this sounded like at all. Or it did, but it was laced with something else.

“Well, sometimes you make little changes and you get some more order in your life. Things make a little more sense.”

“I hear yoga helps with that sort of thing. It’s ‘centering’ or something.”

Men, especially men from the midwest and southern states, liked their women just a little ditzy. 

“And other stuff can help too.”

“Maybe if things settle down,” she said easily. “A little order in my life might be nice, something a bit more stable.”

She used the word ‘order’ because repeating words used by the other person in a conversation endeared you to them. She made it sound light though. He had put some emphasis on the word that she could not quite read. Maybe it was just an Americanism that she had missed out on, but she didn’t think so. _Order._ _Unnecessary pain._ These things were sticking out to her as much as ‘Nazi’ and ‘Hydra,’

He smiled at her.

“Truth be told, this sort of thing can get tiring after a while,” she continued.

“You don’t seem the kind to settle down.”

He thought she believed this was still flirting and personal. That was good for her. He was gearing up for something different and he thought he had her attention. He did have her attention but not in the way he imagined he did.

If she had to guess, he was figuring out if he could recruit her. Natasha had potential for that weird _something_ in SHIELD apparently. She hated having that much more in common with Rumlow.

“Who said anything about settling down?”

She grinned. He smirked back.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He checked his watch. “I gotta head out. It was nice talking to you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

He stepped towards the door and hovered a moment in the doorway. He was going to ask her out.

Was this what Rumlow had done to Steve? If Rumlow was half as good as Rollins Steve really didn’t stand a chance. He was quick to like people and almost as quick to love people sometimes. Maybe he was a little better about it back in the forties, but he was so unmoored in this century he was vulnerable She warned him about that, but Steve couldn’t hear it. She liked that about Steve.

She had to consider the possibility that after all was said and done that part of Steve might not be around anymore. He had liked Rumlow and Rumlow drugged and kidnapped him. That was bound to give someone trust issues, even a guy as trusting as Steve.

“Would— would you be interested in going out to drinks sometime?” he asked. He was a little shy about it, hands going back into his pockets. He had the benefit of being tall, so he had practice in pretending he wasn’t as tall as he was. It came off as charming and boyish. She was sure he knew that. “Just drinks. No pressure or anything.”

Rollins was good. He was damn good.

“Wow. Um. Yeah, sure.” She smiled back softly before looking down at the floor, looking back up at him, pushing a bit of hair back behind her ear. “That’d be nice.”

He pretended to look relieved, excited, a tiny bit shocked, hopeful. He was going to try and seduce her emotionally, not physically. He wanted to her to fall in love with him. Had Steve been in love with Rumlow? Was he still?

Rollins had skimmed her file but he was working with false information. She had altered her reccord early on in her career at SHIELD just to see if she could. In any event, her emotional panel was a little skewed from the truth. He thought she was susceptible to this sort of play. She might have been once, but not so much anymore. And it was a good weapon to be underestimated. Guys don’t ask girls on dates if they don’t think they can get the upper hand.

“Great,” he said with a smile. “I’ll um, let you know.”

“Alright.”

He headed out of the room, and she kept the act on so he had the benefit of seeing at least her general body language through the sanded glass walls of the conference room. She may have almost had him fooled. She brought her hand up to bite her nail because that’s what people did when they were thinking and processing events like being asked on a date. She looked around the empty conference room, because it would have been embarrassing if someone else saw their interaction. She made a show of straightening out her shirt and stepping out of the door sparing a surreptitious glance at the elevator in time to meet his eye one more time and smile as the doors slid closed in front of him. She turned and walked down the hall, keeping the smile on for three steps before letting it slip off of her face.

Her phone rang. “You got a date, huh?” Nick asked. She could hear the grin in his voice.

“I need to look at a history book.”

“He’s not that old.”

“Whatever. I’m to the archives.”

“You hate research.”

“This is true. I’ll call you when I find what I’m looking for.”

She hung up the phone, snuck down the emergency stairs and out of sight.

* * *

That night at the storage shed Natasha told them what she thought was happening. It was a bit of a stretch still, but she thought the others might be a receptive of the idea.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nick asked.

“Nat, is this some kinda joke? Steve’s missing and I left my family to go find him, and this is what you have.”

“Did you find anything better?”

“But still,” Maria said softly. “Hydra?”

“Yeah,” Natasha replied with a sigh. “Hydra.”

* * *

Things revved up as Natasha and Clint watched on and pretended nothing was revving up. If there was one thing you could say about Maria Hill, it was that she was frighteningly efficient and scared the living shit out of every one even more than Natasha. The silent manhunt was still silent, but there were now more than sixty people involved, researching in secret, unaware of who else they were even working with.

Operation Santa Cruz was in full effect and simultaneously did not exist.

Natasha flirted with Rollins. They went out for drinks the night before she had to go on a ‘mission’ and wouldn’t see him in a few weeks. Nick had set that up, thank god. She was not sure how long she could keep up this charade with Rollins.

Or rather, she knew she could keep it up forever, but she just really didn’t want to.

In any other world it would have been a great date. Hell, she could see herself falling for him. He was tall and quiet but well-spoken, which was hard to find these days.

“I gotta warn you, I think you’re looking for love in all the wrong places,” she said before sipping on the straw of her girly drink.

He chuckled and ran a finger over the rim of his glass. Bourbon, not the most expensive, but not terribly cheap either. “Not sure what I’m looking for, to be honest.”

“You should be more careful then.”

He looked like he was trying to keep himself from smiling. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are you looking for?”

She paused, considering. “Honestly?” He nodded. “I don’t know either. I think I just want whatever comes from saying yes when a nice guy asks you out to drinks.”

“You’re sweet,” he murmured.

Their eyes met, and he reached over and pushed a little hair out of her face as she blinked up at him. His fingers were soft, just barely brushing her skin. She played her part in response; darting her tongue out to wet her lips, smiling down at the bar. She could even make herself blush, but that seemed a little overkill.

She cued off of him and leaned in, mirroring his posture. He kissed her, and she let him, opening up the way they taught her in Russia and smiling into his face, cupping his cheek with her small, dainty hand.

When they broke apart she pretended to hold back a giggle and smirked at him, half shy, half fiesty. He smiled back before looking away, rubbing the back of his neck.

If she had been the girl in her altered file, she’d be falling in love with him. Thank god she wasn’t that girl.

“Wish you weren’t heading out tomorrow,” he said.

 _Because you have a fourteen day plan to make the girl you think I am fall for you, and leaving for a while means that much longer having my own individual thoughts_ she mused, taking another sip of her drink. He was trying to recruit her, she was certain of it now. Recruited to Hydra. That can’t be what they were doing to Steve. It was Steve Fucking Rogers. The guy who singlehandedly brought Hydra down.

She forced herself not to think of the way his face would fall when he found out that was not true. The thing he died trying to do was a moot point now. That sort of thing could break a man.

“Me either. But I think you know better than most how married to my work I am.”

“I kinda like that about you.”

“Yeah?” she bit her lip. “Most guys are put off by it.”

“They don’t know how good you are at what you do. You’d be an amazing asset wherever you landed.”

 _Asset._ That was a weird word to use.

“Thanks, Rollins.” She made herself blush this time.

“Probably should call me Jack.”

“Nat.”

They smiled at each other.

It was an amazing date by every conceivable standard if you ignored the fact that Jack Rollins was associated with, if not directly involved with raping, kidnapping and probably torturing Steve Rogers. Actually, considering some of the people she had been on actual dates with, this was actually going a lot better than it could be. It was almost unfortunate this wasn’t real, truth be told.

He thought this charm he was laying on was working on her. She let him think so, even though she knew was not going to get anymore information out of him. She didn’t need much more anyway, thought. He was very, impressively good at this.

She was just better.

* * *

A nerdy kid with dark, curly hair made the discovery. Natasha almost kissed him right then and there if she hadn’t thought the nervous kid was about to spontaneously combust. Maria was right to trust him. He was young, but he was very, very good at his job. And brave. That quiet braveness that happened when someone good was able to do something right. That Steve Rogers brand of brave.

“I found Steve Rogers,” he had said.

Correction; he said that to Nick Fury, Maria Hill and Natasha herself. With a straight face, only the slightest quiver in his voice.

Even Natasha didn’t think she could be that brave in the face of all that.

There was a warehouse owned by someone who had been dead for about fifteen years. It was abandoned, but abandoned warehouses don’t generate that much electricity. Starktech showed the basic layout of what was inside. A large computer console and a cordoned off room in the middle of the warehouse. At any given time there were seven to twenty people outside at the computer station and three people inside the center room.

Rumlow and Steve. She suspected those were the three people, but she was at a complete loss as to who was the third. There were eyes on Rollins and Jameson, the former occasionally going into the warehouse, but they never into the room. She thought about what she was going to see. Torture and interrogation did not require much of anything really. Simple restraints, probably a table with a tilt mechanism. If anyone would react even worse to waterboarding than usual it would be Steve Rogers. Would Rumlow know to use ice water on him? Steve hated being cold, hated the feeling of drowning because he had done it before; that was how he committed suicide and who would want to be reminded of that?

“All units advise status,” Nick’s voice said into her ear piece.

“Strike Team Delta standing by,” Natasha murmured back, meeting Clint’s eye. Clint nodded back and was re-checking his arsenal. They heard the other units checking in over the comms.

“Roll out.”

Natasha and Clint started moving over the rooftops towards the warehouse fast and silent. They were on retrieval duty. Find Steve Rogers, get the fuck outta dodge with him in tow. The other units were working on perimeter containment, prisoner capture, data assessing and cataloguing. It sounded more boring than it was. They were taking out the people at the computer consoles, and trying to take them out alive. There were some people on Nick and Maria’s team who might not make it out of the warehouse. That was just part of the job though.

A gunshot, then another. Shouting. Fighting.

Natasha and Clint took out two men from the roof entrance they were coming in through. Silencers. The small hiss at close range, the last huff of breath, catching the bodies and laying them down gently so they wouldn’t alert anyone else. Clint and Natasha were still undetected.

They snuck around to the room as best they could. It was just four walls in the middle of the warehouse. Technically it should have been impossible not to be seen, but Clint and Natasha were very good at their job.

They opened the door.

* * *

_Natasha was going to ask him. She was just going to say “Are you fucking Rumlow? What the fuck Rogers?!”_

_But she didn’t. They were on a run and lapping pretty much everyone on the path. His step was lighter than it had been when she first knew him. He grinned at her when they started into the park nearby and weaving through the trees. They both went faster._

_Steve Rogers was so fucking happy it was blinding._

_They looped back to her car and sat on the hood, panting._

_“You kept up.” He was still smiling, impressed and only a little flushed._

_“You’re pretty slow, old man.”_

_“Are you like me?”_

_“You read my file.”_

_“You doctored your file.”_

_“No.”_

_“Liar.”_

_“How’d you know?”_

_“You just confessed!” He was grinning and she elbowed him in the ribs. “But your file didn’t say anything about a serum.”_

_“Not a serum like yours.”_

_“I should’ve figured it out earlier.”_

_“Yeah, but you’ve been a little distracted, Rip Van Winkle.”_

_“Suppose so.”_

_They sat quietly for a moment. It was a lovely day and Steve Rogers was fucking Brock Rumlow (or getting fucked by him more likely), and he was so god damned happy he was fit to burst. The sun was out and warm on their skin. If Natasha had to guess, Steve was falling in love. He looked like a puppy with a new ball._

_There was none of the despondency, she realized. He wasn’t angry and sad. Sure, there was something bittersweet and nostalgic, but he was moving on. Brock fucking Rumlow, douchebag extraordinaire was helping Steve Rogers move on. She had never seen him like this, and if things had been different there was the possibility that she never would._

_“How are you doing?” she finally asked. It was all she could do to keep herself from asking him about Rumlow._

_“Okay,” he replied. “Pretty good, actually.”_

_“I’m glad. I’m ready to take a vacation from worrying about you.”_

_He smirked. “Good to know.”_

* * *

She had seen plenty in her lifetime. Natasha was older than she looked and been through more than enough for five people let alone just one. She thought she was prepared for whatever was behind the door. She had to be. This was Steve. This was her fault, really. She hadn’t warned him off from Rumlow and now he was here. She couldn’t change that, but she could make this right.

Rumlow shot at her. She shot back. He screamed at Russian to the third man. _Go now. That’s an order. Through the bathroom exit._

It was Rumlow’s apartment. Down to the little fern on the nightstand. It was uncanny and terrifying. Did Steve even know he wasn’t there anymore?

She got one good look at the third man. It was the Winter Soldier. She paused, thrown.

_What the actual fuck was going on?_

He was kneeling in front of Steve, looking torn. She knew that metal arm, but it was like it was an entirely different person without the gear, the guns, the terrifying glare. He finally cursed and followed Rumlow’s order, running after him out through the bathroom. She sprinted after them, but they were gone, the wall behind the shower slid open, their retreating forms weaving through the chaos. She swore.

“Nat. Help.”

Clint was kneeling on the floor by the couch next to the prone form of a man wearing nothing but sweatpants with metal plating along his back, lying on his side. It was Steve. He was curled in on himself, reaching out over the duvet where he was lying. His eyes were closed and he was shaking, tense, pale. He didn’t even look like himself, he didn’t even look human.

He was crying.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look. She had no idea what was on his back, but it had to come off. It was pulsing red and the metal was sunk under his muscles, shifting over his skin. She walked around and knelt in front of him by his knees.

He opened his eyes, staring ahead of him. His face crumpled a little. “No… Bu—buck—“

It was gibberish. That was all Natasha could think as she heard gunshots outside the room. He was lost, and tortured and gone. They needed to get him out of here.

“Please,” Steve whispered, reaching out in front of him for something, grasping at empty air. “Please.”

“Steve? Steve talk to me,” Clint said behind him.

He blinked a little and saw Natasha’s face then.

“Please,” he said again. “Bucky…”

Natasha shook her head confused.

“Steve, Steve it’s me, it’s Natasha. Can you hear me?”

She saw Clint reach forward and touch the thing on Steve’s back, wrapping his fingers around it like he was going to try and pull it off.

Steve screamed, and his eyes closed like he had passed out.

“Oookay,” Clint murmured. Natasha pulled back Steve’s eyelid and tried to wake him again. “Okay sweetie-bug, okay. It’s alright, baby. Shh.”

 _Sweetie-bug_. That’s what Clint called Cooper and Lila when they got hurt or were crying. Clint was very compromised. So was Natasha,

“Please,” Steve muttered, grasping, tears on his face. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”

“Steve,” Natasha tried again. “We need to get this off of you.”

“Please. Please don’t leave me…”

With a small click, everything stopped. Steve grew tense for a second before slumping down onto the duvet beneath him. There was a clatter of metal. She had thought Clint had figured out how to remove the thing on Steve’s back, but looking at him he looked just as confused as she felt. The thing had just fallen off of his skin. Something Steve had done made it fall off. All he had said was ‘Please don’t leave me.’

It must have been remotely deactivated. Neither Steve nor Clint and Natasha had done anything to make it stop.

She looked around and saw a metal briefcase. There was a timer on it, paused now at thirteen minutes and six seconds. That was how long it had been on him. She wanted to scream. Instead she looked around and saw SHIELD agents filing in, clearing the room. She was about to tell them to collect the metal pieces that had piled behind Steve when they made a soft popping noise.

Self-destruct. A tiny plume of smoke rose up from the metal.

“Fuck,” Maria said over her. “All their tech is crashing.”

Natasha nodded, not surprised as Maria went around the fake apartment and started barking orders to her team. She cupped Steve’s face. “Steve. Hey, Rogers… come on, look at me.” He was so lost, he looked sick and dying still, even without that thing on his back. “Help me out here big guy.”

He flinched violently, and Clint and Natasha worked together to bring him up to his feet. He had to get out of here. They were all but shoving him out of the building. Steve was screaming and looking around. So he didn’t know about the room, about the warehouse. She exchanged another look with Clint and they kept going.

Steve fell to the ground.

“Okay, buddy,” Clint said softly. “Come on, sweetie-bug. You’re alright, you’re alright.”

It didn’t matter. Steve had passed out.

Natasha could not blame him at all.

* * *

In the hospital they had sedated him and wanted him to sleep for a day or so before waking him. The doctors told them it didn’t look like there would be any permanent physical damage, but getting him back to peak physical health would make dealing with any mental problems a little easier.

They cuffed him to the bed by his bruised wrists and ankles because he was dreaming and scared, because he kept trying to pull out the IV from his hand.

But he wasn’t hurt, they said. There was no signs of trauma, but because of his advanced healing time there might have been something before. But he was fine. Physically, he was doing perfectly fine.

Clint met her eye, “Well, that’s good, right?”

She watched Steve on the bed, chest rising and falling, face twisting sometimes, a whimper sounding out through his dreams. Something had happened in that room. She knew that Steve would not want to wake up ever. Just looking at his prone body on the bed she knew he was lost.

“You sure about that?” she wanted to ask. She wanted to scream. He knew he was just trying to be optimistic. So she didn’t say that to him. Clint was as freaked out as she was, if not more. His paternal instincts were kicking in unexpectedly. He looked as tired as she felt. He didn’t deserve to be snapped at right now, despite how much it was growing inside of her.

“Yeah,” she murmured instead. “Good to know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly oly! A whopping 10K chapter! From a different POV! Holy moly! Also, inadvertently shipping Natasha/Jack Rollins now. My bad... sorry. But this was fun, right? I'm really proud of this chapter, which means it's either okay or actually really bad but I can't see it and need to be told I fucked up.
> 
> Holy moly oly that was long. Don't worry though! There'll be more torture and sex later! You'll see! I won't leave you hanging like that.
> 
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	20. Chapter 20

“ _I don’t like hospitals,” Brock said as they sat waiting for Natasha and Jameson to get patched up._

_“I don’t mind them,” replied Steve._

_Brock snorted, face a little tighter than usual, a little harder.“Yeah, says the guy that can never get sick.”_

_“Well yeah, but it’s not that. My mom was a nurse. And I was sick a lot as a kid. Even eighty years later, this feels familiar.”_

_“I wish I had such fond hospital memories.”_

_“Bet you’ve seen the inside of places like this a little too much.”_

_“That’s not why I don’t like them.”_

_Brock looked dark, cold, staring ahead at the wall in front of him. “Do— are you okay?”_

_“Can I tell you something?”_

_“Anything, you know that.”_

_His voice was so quiet, Steve could barely hear it. “I don’t like hospitals. They all smell the same, and every time I get a whiff of that smell I remember—“_

_“What do you remember?”_

_“My wife died in a place like this, Steve.”_

_Steve was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t know you were married.”_

_“I try not to think about it— talk about it. Ever.”_

_“Except when you’re in hospitals.”_

_“Except when there’s someone I think deserves to know about it.” They shared a look before they both turned and stared ahead at the wall together once more. Steve felt terribly lost for a moment, but stayed quiet. “Jack’s the only other one who knows. I was a grunt in SHIELD at the time and Jack was mentoring me for the command track. He kinda took me under his wing when he found out why I had to delay my promotion.”_

_“Do you want to tell me what happened?”_

_“Sometimes I’m jealous of you. I know it’s not right, but when your friend died — Barnes —” Steve dutifully did not flinch at the mention of Bucky, trying to keep his face neutral. That same stoic look he felt the need to practice in the mirror so no one would know what he was thinking. Natasha would be proud. “He just died. That was it. Katie, she— we— there was an accident— she was pregnant.”_

_Steve was frozen, listening. He had no idea. He never had any idea. Brock always seemed happy, seemed fine, but this?_

_“We made it to the hospital. And I felt so glad we had made it there, you know? They were going to take care of her. They said they’d take care of her. They lied. Or it wasn’t a lie. I have to keep telling myself they did the best they could. But god, that hope I had? I thought things would be okay. I was going to move house so she could walk to her work so there wouldn’t be any more car accidents. I was ready to never leave the house with her, I was so excited she was going to be okay. And the baby? Katie was so happy. We were having trouble getting pregnant that first year but when it finally happened, we were so fucking happy. She was so, so happy. And— and—“_

_His face was tight and he was glaring at the wall ahead of him now._

_“We were going to name her Megan. After a family friend. Only Katie didn’t know for sure. She told me to keep the gender a secret, she didn’t want to know until it happened. It was going to be either Megan or Jack, but I knew it was Megan. ”_

_“Jack? After Rollins?”_

_“Yeah…” Brock smiled a little, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “He’s a good guy, Steve. I know you don’t know him well, but I don’t think I’d be here without him. He was the reason I started SHIELD.”_

_“I think I’d like to get to know him better.”_

_“Good to know.”_

_They kept talking quietly and when Rumlow finished, Steve walked him out from the hospital. They could wait for Jameson and Natasha in the car._

* * *

Steve opened his eyes and saw an unfamiliar ceiling. He was groggy, his skin itched as strange cloth rubbed against him. He tried to scratch at a tickle on his neck but his hands did not go very far.

With a jolt he looked down at his body. He was on a hospital bed. His wrists and ankles were held to the bed with leather cuffs.

Steve screamed.

He was tugging on the cuffs violently, feeling the remnants of the bruises from before burn under his skin, bones straining. He could feel the cuffs giving way slowly as he pulled. He knew that he was able to break free of them in the back of his mind, but that did nothing for the panic of having them in the first place.

It was just like before. He had woken up like this before.

Nurses, a doctor and some orderlies ran in, followed closely by Natasha and Maria.

“Steve! Calm down! you’re okay!”

“Help me!”

“Steve, you have to calm down!”

“Undo the cuffs! Please undo the cuffs!”

“Steve, it’s alright, you’re in the hospital.”

“The cuffs! Please!”

“Steve, you have to calm down!”

He was sobbing, shaking, yanking on the cuffs. He saw a doctor come towards him with a syringe and he screamed even louder. “God, please, no!” The doctor came closer and there were hands pushing his head down. “Don’t please! God, please don’t!”

“It’s okay, Steve. You’re alright.”

The needle hit his neck and some part of him was grateful at least it wasn’t in his arm. Like it had been before.

“The cuffs, Natasha, please—“

He slowly stopped fighting, or rather his body stopped fighting and he was left trapped inside of it, pulled down into darkness.. He knew it was a sedative, but it wasn’t as strong as it should have been, it was working slowly. His limbs grew heavy and another wave of panic coursed through him, another sob tore from his lips. It was just like before. Heavy limbs was how this all started, wasn’t it? He was aware but he could barely move.

“Please, help me. What are you doing? Please—”

“It’s alright, Steve. It’s alright.”

He panted on the bed, feeling a daze slowly pull him down. He could not focus, he could only stare, he could only breathe, and even that did not feel like it was doing any good.

“Please,” he murmured, he slurred. “The cuffs, I’ll be good. Take off the cuffs, I’ll be good.”

“Steve, you were pulling out your IV in your sleep.”

“Please, please, please, please—“

“Shh. Steve, it’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“Bucky, please…”

_Please don’t leave me._

His eyes closed.

* * *

He opened his eyes and felt his eyelashes scrape across the rough fabric of the hospital bed. It felt like his heart was beating too slow, blood thick and wrong in his veins. He was curled up in a ball on his side, there were no cuffs now. Instead, he saw someone had put socks on his hands. He blinked.

“Hey,” a voice murmured. It was Clint, sitting on a chair on the side of the bed with a cup of coffee in his hand. “You were pulling out your IV.” The connection between that and the socks must not have registered on his face so Clint continued, “My son couldn’t stop scratching when he had chicken pox so we did that with him while he slept. Didn’t want to keep you in the cuffs. Rumor has it you’re not a fan.”

Steve stared at him. “I didn’t know you had a son,” he finally said at last.

“ _I didn’t know you were married.”_

“And a daughter. And a wife.”

Steve frowned at him, confused but nodded.

“I’m on watch duty right now. Don’t want you to wake up alone again.”

Steve didn’t feel alone. He felt like Rumlow was breathing down his neck right now. He glanced over his shoulder even though he knew nothing was there.

“Can I get up?” he asked.

“Sure. Where do you want to go?”

Steve shook his head as he slowly sat up on the bed. He peered around the private hospital room. He was more than a little terrified to realize that someone had changed him out of the hospital gown into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt when he was sedated. The idea of another set of hands on his naked body made his stomach churn.

Besides Clint he was alone in the room. But he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t fight off the feeling of hands, of Rumlow’s hands, of Bucky’s, from his skin. He thought he could still feel the chemicals Rumlow had pumped into his veins that made him hard, made him sleep, made him _pliant_. He took the socks off of his hands and pulled out the IV drip. He thought perhaps Clint would protest, but he was quiet as Steve slipped off of the bed.

He held himself tight. He couldn’t help it. He felt exposed, even while dressed. And the room was big. It felt too big. The window was huge, and there was a small sitting area in one corner, and it was too fucking big for a hospital room. Steve glanced around trying to find something. What he was looking for he didn’t know. He saw a doorway open to a private bathroom and thought maybe he should go in there. It was smaller, empty. But it wasn’t right.

Clint was pretending to play on his phone. Steve knew Clint was actually monitoring Steve’s every breath, every shift of muscle under his skin. Pretending otherwise was just polite at this point. Steve was grateful for it though. He glanced at Clint, then he glanced behind Clint.

The corner behind Clint’s chair was unoccupied, dark and protected. Steve found his way to it without even thinking. It felt safe. It felt inordinately safe. He met Clint’s eye where he stood and Clint gave a small shrug before reaching up towards the hospital bed and grabbing a blanket and handing it back over his chair to Steve.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered. He slid down to the floor, crouched in the corner. The back of Clint’s chair offered some protection. Clint in front of him was another layer of security he did not realize he was missing. He was clutching the blanket tight in his fists in front of his chest. Even now he thought he was acting crazy, but he couldn’t calm down, couldn’t pull away and act rationally, couldn’t be back in that bed. “Just— thank you. Tonight… just— just for tonight.”

“No problem. You’re still working off some of the meds, so try and get some sleep. Doctors might disagree, but I don’t think it really matters where you do it.”

“Okay.”

Clint finally turned and met his eye again. Steve flinched and looked away. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Sorry,” Steve replied, voice soft and pathetic. He wasn’t even sure why he said it. He stared at the floor.

“That’s a can of worms we’ll open at a later date, okay? Just sleep. Can you do that?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

* * *

“He was just torturing me, I don’t know what he wanted.” Steve was lying, but the truth was just too terrible. And he didn’t want them to know.

The SHIELD agent, along with Natasha and Clint standing in the back of the hospital room looked only half-convinced at most.

“Can you describe the ways he was torturing you?”

“Umm… there were drugs. He said it was adrenaline and cortisol, and then a hallucinogenic. It made me see things. And— and there was— he called it Leeches.”

“That was what we found on you when we got you out, right?” Clint asked

_No, that was the Tentacle. Thirteen minutes and six seconds. It broke me. I did it._

_The Tentacle is Hydra’s alone._

“That’s right,” Steve replied. He wanted to scream, he wanted to tell them everything, but his mind wouldn’t work. He fiddled with the blanket on the hospital bed, waiting for the next question.

“Were you in a relationship with Brock Rumlow?”

Steve sighed and shook his head. “No, we were just coworkers.”

_He broke me._

* * *

It was late at night and Steve was sitting in one of the chairs by the coffee table in the hospital room. He was trying to read a magazine that Natasha gave him because he couldn’t sleep, but it was not working. He would stare at the pictures for minutes, not reading, not seeing before realizing that a normal person would have turned the page by now. No one was watching. Natasha had gone to get them some food after Steve insisted he would be fine for a little while by himself.

“Knock knock,” a voice murmured behind him. Steve turned and saw an older man in a three-piece suit standing by the door. “Do you mind a visitor, Captain?”

Steve stood, “Please, come in.” He said it out of instinct. He really didn’t want to talk to anyone, but it was too late now. The man held out his hand and Steve shook it.

“We haven’t met formally; I’m Alexander Pierce, Director of SHIELD.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

“If only the circumstances were better.” He glanced around the hospital, gestured for Steve to sit back down and sat in the chair next to him. “I see they’ve given you the penthouse,” he said with a smile. “How much longer are you cooped up here?”

“A few more days. The doctors want to make sure there’s nothing… lingering. I was drugged.”

“And tortured? I read the file.”

“Yes sir.”

“It’s bad luck. I was shocked when I heard about it, just shocked. You, of all people, a target of something like that.” Steve didn’t know how to respond to that. The Director sighed, and Steve watched him cautiously. Part of him wished Natasha was here to run interference. But another part of him felt calm. He could not explain why.

Steve shrugged. “These things happen.”

“No, they don’t.” The Director sighed again. “Pain, torture with no purpose behind it? That doesn’t just _happen_. It had meaning, Captain. Don’t forget that.”

Steve nodded, “Sir.”

That felt right, what the Director had said. Steve found himself nodding again, looking at the ground.

“Steve,” Director Pierce said softly. Steve looked up and met his eye, but even that felt overwhelming so he looked away. “You don’t get to where I am without learning a thing or two about the bad guys. This happened to you for a reason. You were tortured for a reason. They used their monstrosity on you for a reason.”

Steve blinked. He met the Director’s eye again, but this time did not look away, despite all instincts to do so. “‘Monstrosity’?”

“The Leeches? The Tentacle?” Steve did flinch then, but it was small; he held Pierce’s gaze. “All bogeymen, urban legends come from a place of truth. When you’re lucky enough to reach old age like me, a position like mine, you learn truths that you wish weren’t real. The Tentacle is one of them.”

“You know about the Tentacle?”

“How long was it on you?”

Steve took a breath. Again he could not look Pierce in the eye. Something familiar was floating in the air between them; that calm that Steve could not explain away. His heart went on in his chest steady and slow for what felt like the first time in days, weeks, months, years. Someone else knew. Someone knew.

“Steve?”

“Thirteen minutes, six seconds.”

Pierce was quiet for a long time. He nodded and finally said, “I bet that felt great, huh?”

Steve allowed himself a small chuckle with the other man. “Something like that.”

Pierce brushed off his thighs and stood up, Steve did likewise and they shook hands once more. “You take care of yourself, Captain. I mean it. We’re not gonna lose you, son. Don’t worry.”

“Yes sir.”

He left, and Steve was alone for a few minutes. It simultaneously felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and set upon him. He blinked at the door, still standing when Natasha came back in with a pizza box.

“You alright?” She asked.

“Yeah. Fine.”

* * *

They transferred him to a temporary dorm in the Triskilion with Clint and Natasha. The two spies were with him either together or apart for the next three months. Upon their recommendation, Steve would either go back to his own place or would be kept under observation.

He hated the situation. He knew he hated it. That was everything he was against. Some deep, trapped small Steve within him was screaming, banging on the walls of his soul, demanding that Steve fight this. Rape, kidnapping? That did not justify this perverse house arrest and why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He just wanted to be alone.

He didn’t want to be alone though. And he didn’t have any strength to argue with Fury and Hill about the arrangement. He hated it, but he hated the thought of confrontation even more. When Natasha and Clint gave him a level stare at his non-reaction to the announcement, Steve felt guilty. He wasn’t acting the way they expected him to, the way they wanted him to.

They fell into a rhythm though. Steve suspected it was because Natasha and Clint had been ordered to fall into a rhythm with him, but he wasn’t complaining. He could have been stuck with two nameless SHIELD agents, and that would have been a nightmare. At least he knew Clint and before everything he considered Natasha his best friend. It could have been worse.

In the mornings they would go to the gym and eat breakfast. It was usually just one or the other of them, but sometimes both. Then they would keep him busy. Natasha took him to parks and museums, Clint took him to movies, inexplicably able to sneak in an entire pizza for them to eat while they watched. In the evenings they would stay at the dorm together. It was more like an apartment if Steve was honest with himself, almost as big as the one he had off base; a few bedrooms, a kitchen and living room. It was nice. Bigger than the one he shared with Bucky in the tenement house, bigger than Rumlow’s.

He knew they wanted him to talk about what had happened, but they knew he wasn’t ready. If anyone understood the possibility of never being ready to discuss the terrible things that had happened to them, it would be Clint and Natasha. Instead they talked to him about something else.

“Nat and I have been sent out on team ops instead of anything else, floating around with Strike and whatnot. We used to have solo missions, but Coulson was our handler, and we haven’t really been up for it since… you know…”

“What does that have to do with me? You’re not—” he blinked at Clint. “You don’t want me to be—

“

“No, god no, that’d be horrible.”

“Then what are you getting at?”

“I’m old. And I’m the only one who gets Natasha. And I’m starting to get you. I’m getting tracked to be a handler for Nat, and we were thinking maybe you too.”

He sipped his beer as Steve stared at him. “I’m not a spy,” Steve replied at last. “Not like she is.”

“We’ll teach you.”

“I’m kind of recognizable.”

“Don’t worry about it. Faces can change every day. You can disappear, easy.” Steve took a shallow breath, remember the man he had killed, thinking it was Rumlow. Faces change every day. “Are you interested?”

“Maybe.”

“Can we start working you a bit? Teaching you the basics, see if you catch on and want to keep going maybe?”

“Not like I’ve got much else going on.”

He liked the idea of disappearing though. That sounded right.

* * *

“Stop shaving,” Clint said as he stood in the bathroom doorway. “Stubble and beards changes the way your face is perceived by people.”

Natasha put on a pair of flimsy gloves she took out of the cardboard box and was reading a set of paper instructions. Steve hadn’t asked what they were doing, and was starting to regret it when they brought him to the bathroom.

“I don’t shave that much actually,” Steve murmured back. “The serum. I don’t get facial hair.”

Clint blinked. “That’s fucking weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What other weird shit can you do or not do?”

“Don’t get sick.”

“I knew that.”

“That’s why Rumlow hacked in and gave you vacation days,” Natasha murmured. “Sick days would raise some alarms.”

“I guess so.”

“What else?”

“I dunno. Lots of weird, little things. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s not really that special. I’m not—”

Clint gave him a strange look through the mirror and Steve could not hold his gaze. They all fell quiet as Natasha kept glancing at the instructions from the box and back at Steve’s head. It was mildly concerning, but Steve wasn’t in any position to fight it. Clint finally yawned and moved to sit on the bathroom counter.

“Take off your shirt,” Natasha finally said. “Don’t want it to stain.”

Steve did as he was told and felt his face turn bright red with Natasha and Clint’s eyes on his bare skin.

“You ever think about going into modeling? Give up this life of fighting crime?”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, sure. I just got off the phone from Pradaguchi.”

“Pradaguchi?” Natasha frowned, but then she figured it out. “Prada and Gucci. They’re two separate brands.”

“Jesus,” Steve murmured. “I hate this fucking century. Nothing makes sense.”

“You could though,” Clint said. “I’m serious.

“Could what?”

“Model. Do a spread naked — artfully of course — and raise billions for whatever charity you like.”

Steve snorted once more. “No one wants to see that.”

“Uh, I think they might, Cap.” The look on Clint’s face was sincere, and gain, he found he could not hold his gaze.

“What are we doing?” Steve asked Natasha, desperate to change the subject.

“I’m dying your hair.”

“Alright. Why?”

The others stared at him for a brief moment and Steve realized he did the wrong thing again. He knew what he had done too. Any sane person would have objected to dying their hair in a SHIELD dorm bathroom with no preamble. But Steve didn’t care.

“Makes you a little less recognizable.”

Steve shrugged. “Fine.”

Natasha got to work but Steve could tell she and Clint were having one of their silent conversations. It was almost as unsettling as Brock and Bucky speaking in Russian above him like before. The two spies were looking at him carefully, eyes roaming over his skin and he felt like he was display. Clint especially. At least Natasha could pretend she was just working on dying Steve’s hair, but after one significant glance with Natasha, Clint was looking at him appreciatively. Even with the pants he was wearing, Steve felt naked. He wanted to take a step back, he wanted to move, to scream, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

“Stop,” he finally whispered.

Natasha pulled her hands back immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Clint. Stop…”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me. Please.”

Natasha passed him something and in an instant he was holding a thick towel in front of his chest, breathing rapidly. It felt like something had been cut within him now that he finally could cover himself. He could finally move and he pushed himself back against the wall of the bathroom.

Clint was there in front of him and held his face. “Shh, easy big guy.”

“Shit,” Steve murmured.

“I think it’s safe to say no honeypot ops for you for a while, huh?” Clint was smiling, looking a little guilty.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s my fault.”

Steve caught his breath, swallowing. He met Natasha’s eye and she waved the little bottle of dye. “Probably should finish, only got halfway through. You’d look like some sort of comic book villain.”

Steve nodded and moved back to her and she began again. Clint took his place back on the counter and watched Natasha work; his eyes no longer on Steve. Steve clutched the towel in front of his chest for a long, long time.

* * *

They were walking towards a coffee shop Steve had never been to before and it felt like a test. With the dyed hair and fake glasses Natasha had given him, along with the new clothes, he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb.

When he came out of his bedroom in the dorm that morning in the jeans that felt a little too tight and the t-shirt advertising a band he didn’t know Natasha and Clint examined carefully before nodding. The only thing that felt relatively normal was the jacket. It was thankfully just a jacket.

“Good. Good enough for this anyway.”

“Now,” Natasha said, stepping forward. “You’re not authorized to carry right now, but if you were out on an actual mission you would have a weapon at least here,” she tapped his hip. “And here.” She reached around him and pressed lightly against the small of his back where his jeans ended. “And sometimes here.” Steve gasped and tensed when she touched the inside of his thigh; she ignored it. “And here.” She bent down and tapped the ankle of his right leg on both sides. “Inside leg or outside leg is personal preference. I do both, Clint’s an outtie.”

“I’ve got sensitive ankles, what can I say?”

“Do you two have weapons?”

“Nope,” Natasha smiled.

“Nat…” Clint raised his eyebrows.

“Oh! Oh, you mean everything. Yeah, three knives. No guns today.”

“Three? Where?” Steve asked.

She grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

That was when they were in the dorm still. Now as they walked through the streets, Steve was trying to listen to what Clint was telling him, but it felt overwhelming. He realized then that every time he went out with one or the other of them, they took him during the off-hours when everything was quiet. This was the early morning coffee rush.

“Walk with purpose,” Clint said. “Even if you don’t know where you’re going, you walk like you’re going exactly where you want to go.”

“When you’re on the lam you walk, don’t run,” Natasha added.

“I run in these shoes, I’d bet you they’d fall off,” Steve muttered. Natasha grinned and gave him a playful shove.

“Looser clothing like your jacket will hide weapons,” Clint continued. “You want to be neutral-fashionable. You look too out of date you draw attention to yourself, but you look too put together you draw attention to yourself too.”

“It’s different for girls. Harder,” said Natasha in a low whisper. “We have to look sexy but forgettable. Do you have any idea how hard that is?”

“Especially for you?” Steve gave her a small smile and she smirked up at him.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Quit it, you two. This is work, not play.” Clint gave them a once over as they walked. “Steve, if we ever get you cleared for outings you’ll at least try to listen to Nat?”

“Wouldn’t know what to do if I didn’t.”

“Your best bet is pretending to be a couple. You’re of equal attraction levels, and it would be believable that you’re together.” Steve flushed a little at that, disagreeing, but said nothing. “Now, you need a distraction, you throw your arm over her shoulder and pretend to laugh at something she said.”

“Wouldn’t that draw attention to us?”

“Try it.”

Steve awkwardly did what Clint said and Natasha, for her part, made it a little easier, pressing into his side and laughing along with him.

“We’ll practice that at home,” Clint muttered. He continued onwards and Steve and Natasha followed just barely a step behind him. “Now listen, walking on the street isn’t hard, but it is hard when you’re a spy.”

“Thank god I’m not a spy then.”

“Steve, focus.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, like regular walking, don’t make eye contact if you can help it, but you shouldn’t blatantly avoid it outright.” Steve frowned. “It’s just like real life. If you meet someone’s eye by accident and give them a shrug or a nod, they’ll forget you; that kinda shit happens all the time. But if you meet someone’s eye, panic and tense up they’ll remember because that’s suspicious. If they say something respond appropriately. When in doubt move with a crowd, not on the edges or in the opposite way, mimic all responses when possible — they all turn to look at something, you look at it too, even if you know it’s going to happen.”

“What does that mean?”

“If you’re the only one not staring and darting away after a bomb goes off, that’s sketchy as fuck, Steve.”

“Right. Okay.”

“Just pretend to be as shocked by it as everyone else,” said Natasha.

“Depending on the city your in wearing sports team paraphernalia for that city is a relatively safe bet, as long as it’s something small. You’re in SF, you wear a black Giants jacket with a logo, not a bright orange Giants jacket.”

Steve nodded. That made sense.

“It also helps if you’re at a sporting event wearing a team something or other, hat coat, jersey. If a suspect is wearing a Giants brand jacket at a Giants game, that doesn’t narrow down anything at all.”

“And it gives you more time to dump the jacket,” Natasha added. “Be seen wearing it, then lose it. Wear layers and keep them covered as best you can. You wear a jacket, have it zipped so when you unzip it and toss it, you’re in a completely different outfit; different color, different silhouette.”

Steve’s jacket wasn’t zipped and he met Natasha’s eye and blushed a little while she smirked at him and gave him another playful shove.

“If you can carry or wear a hat and then dump it even better, same with sunglasses. People remember sunglasses and hats.”

Steve nodded again.

“We’re here,” Natasha said opening the door. Steve had not even noticed where they had walked. If the Triskilion wasn’t a massive sky scraper, Steve would have no idea how to get back to their dorm.

They moved Steve into the line “Okay Steve, we’re going to get a table. You order.”

“What do you want?”

“Caramel frapuccino,” Natasha said, smiling. “Tall.”

“Tall almond milk latte with an extra shot. And you need to get the barista’s name and phone number.”

Steve stared. “What?”

“Have fun. This is a test.”

“Just do what I’d do,” Natasha added.

“Wait, guys—“ but they pushed Steve ahead and left him there, gaping.

“Oh, don’t give her your real name, dude,” Clint called out as they moved through the coffee shop.

Steve scoffed and walked through the line, meeting the barista’s eye, feeling like a deer in the headlights. She was cute, not at all Steve’s type, but relatively good looking. That made this so much harder. He swallowed and she gave him a ‘customer service’ smile, and it reminded Steve of the USO girls and when he used to sell War Bonds.

“What can I get for you?”

Steve struggled to remember what Clint and Natasha told him. “Umm.” He closed his eyes. “A caramel frapuccino, tall. And a tall almond milk latte with an extra shot.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“And the name?”

“St— Jim,” Steve said after a moment. “Name’s Jim.”“Alright Jim, got your tall caramel frap and almond milk latte with a shot. Total’s going to be $8.75, credit or debit?”

“Credit.”

He passed her one of the cards they had given him to keep in his wallet, and she blinked at it for a moment before running it through. It was the black one that Tony had gotten for him special, but Steve was not exactly sure what was so special about it.

“Wh-what about you?” he finally said as she handed back the card.

“Pardon?”

“What’s your name?”

She gave him a smaller smile, but a more genuine one. “Lauren. I’m Lauren.”

“Nice to meet, Lauren.”

“You too, Jim. Your drinks’ll be right up.”

He opened his mouth to ask for her number, but froze. That was too much. He nodded at her and gave her a small wave before walking over to the table, and sitting down with a huff. Natasha graciously stepped up to get the drinks when they were ready while Steve tried to force his blush down.

“Well?” Clint finally asked when Natasha sat down. She took a sip of the frapuccino before passing it to Steve to take a sip as well.

“Her name’s Lauren.”

“You get her number?”

“No.”

“Eh. Two outta three ain’t bad.”

“You mean one out of two?”

“You didn’t fuck up the drinks. That was part of the assignment. The most important part, actually.”

Steve sighed, and took another sip of the sugary drink before passing it back to Natasha. “Fuck…” he murmured.

“You did good…” Clint peered at the cup in his hand. “Jim.”

“Why Jim?” Natasha asked.

“First name I could think of.”

_Jim, from James, James Buchanan, Bucky._

“Drink.” Natasha pushed the straw to his lips and he had no choice but to open his mouth and take another sip. “It’s your favorite.”

“Sure it is,” Steve replied.

“It’s Jim’s favorite.”

“Ugh. Stop.”

The two of them chuckled and finally pushed off from the table and out of the coffee shop. Steve did not look back to the barista.

* * *

The days started to pass like that. Natasha and Clint were training Steve, and he was learning more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t easy, by any means, but he was picking up things. He was learning to fade into the background and that was something of a relief that Steve did not even know he needed. The three of them could walk down a street without garnering any stares. They just looked like a group of friends.

They were friends, Steve thought.

But you didn’t keep secrets from friends. You didn’t want to run away from your friends and keep running until your feet were bleeding stumps.

Steve didn’t know what he wanted. Some days leaning into Clint or Natasha was the only thing that kept him grounded. The two of them were so painfully human all he wanted to do was make the proud of him. He thought if he could do right by them, maybe this whole thing would go away.

But some days he wanted to run. Some days he could not stop thinking of Bucky. Some days he could not stop thinking of Brock. He wanted to be back with them, even as they tortured him, tied him up and raped him he wanted to be back with them, with Brock, with Bucky. He thought their hands on his skin just one more time would be a small blessing.

Nothing made sense.

He forced himself to try and go to sleep one night with this thought in his mind. He did not sleep at all. He lay on the bed for a long time, staring at the wall ahead of him.

The bed dipped behind him and Steve tensed. He knew it was Natasha. She had been wearing a light perfume and he caught a whiff of it, but there was something different about this and he was frozen. All he could do is tighten his fist around the pillow.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked.

Her hand was on his back, pushing his shirt up and his breath caught. He wasn’t shaking, but it was a close thing. Her finger was moving in a strange pattern across his back. He knew what she was tracing out along his spine.

“Natasha, what are you doing?” he tried again.

“This is where it was.”

_The Tentacle._

“Stop… please.”

“You can push me off. What’s stopping you?”

“Natasha—”

“Stop me, Steve.” His whole body was tense and his breathing shallow; there wasn’t enough oxygen, there wasn’t enough air. “This is how I found you, with that thing on your spine. Do you remember?”

“Yes.” Of course he remembered. He squeezed his eyes shut, but keeping his eyes closed meant he saw Rumlow and Bucky and the lights glowing _blue, blue, red,_ and Bucky leaving him while he sobbed and begged, so he opened his eyes and stared ahead as she continued to move her fingers where the Tentacle had been on his back. “Please, stop…”

“If you want me to stop you’re going to have to move.”

“I can’t.” And he couldn’t. He was completely frozen. His body wasn’t working, shutting down on him. He wanted to scream but it was impossible. “Natasha, stop it. Please, please…”

“Natasha,” Clint’s voice said from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

“If he wanted me to stop he would have moved.”

Steve blinked up at Clint as he walked over and stood at the side of the bed above Steve. “Clint, please.”

“Do you want her to stop?” he asked.

“Yes. Please. Make her stop.”

“Move, Steve.”

“I can’t.

“You can. Just slide away. It’s fine.”

_“I can’t.”_

Steve couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It stung behind his eyelids and it stung where Natasha’s fingers roamed over his skin, a perfect outline of the Tentacle. _Thirteen minutes, six seconds_ and Steve was shaking, shaking so, so hard.

“Move, Steve,” Clint said again.

Steve sobbed, “God, please, I can’t!”

_Say it. Hail Hydra. I can’t. Please don’t make me. Bucky, please don’t leave me._

“Steve—“

Steve surged forward and barely made it over the edge of the bed before he was vomiting, dry heaving, body wracked with pain as he lost control of his faculties. Clint darted to his side and held him by the shoulders, pushing his hair up off his brow.

“Okay, Steve, you’re alright. You’re okay. You did good.”

Steve turned and stared up at him. “What?”

“You moved.”

“I threw up.”

“You moved.”

Steve pulled away from them, swallowing back bitter spit and wincing. Natasha’s hand was on his shoulder again, but it felt entirely different. Small, comforting, warm through the fabric of his shirt.

“How do you do that?” he asked, turning halfway over his shoulder. It was an abortive move, he looked back down at his knees before meeting her eye.

“Intent translates in the strangest of ways.”

“So you intended to make me throw up?”

“I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

“Kind of a bitchy move, Nat,” said Clint.

Steve huffed, barely a real laugh. “Did you learn anything?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Me neither,” Steve replied.

He missed Bucky. And he missed Brock.

* * *

“You can talk to me, Steve. You know that right?”

Natasha sipped her beer and peered at him over the brim of the cup.

“What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t really have anything to talk about.”

“Well we’ve got all night. Clint won’t be home until later. He’s got chores.”

“Chores?”

“Chores.”

Steve forced himself not to look disappointed. Clint was easier to be around than Natasha sometimes, especially after the incident the other night. Clint was not as good at reading Steve as she was, he did not ask about what had happened in Rumlow’s apartment.

It hadn’t been an apartment. Or, as best as Steve could tell, Rumlow moved him at some point when he was sedated from his apartment to the set in the warehouse. Every time he thought about it he almost laughed. It wasn’t funny, he just thought that at any point he would just wake up somewhere else, walk out and find himself in yet another fabricated reality, another set. Were the cameras rolling? Was anything real?

She put the beer down and stood to go pick up her phone from the counter. She checked her messages and started tapping out a reply, thumbs moving lightning fast as Steve watched and drank his own beer. When she finished she turned around and started walking to the living room and Steve followed along behind her.

“So, why are you lying about being with Rumlow?” she asked into the dorm, turning and facing him.

The question made Steve blink. He took too long to reply with, “I’m not lying.”

“Steve.”

“We— we were friends, that’s all.”

“Alright.” She shrugged and stretched her arms over her head. Her shirt lifted revealing a stripe of pale skin, and a small pink scar. Steve’s eyes caught it and he found he could not look away. Natasha noticed him staring and quirked an eyebrow.

“How’d you get it?” Steve asked.

“On a job in Odessa, escorting a scientist to a safe house. Was attacked on the road by an ex-Soviet assassin, the Winter Soldier. He’s a ghost story, really. An assassin, trained killer with a metal arm.”

Steve blinked once more. He did not react otherwise, he could not react, would not let himself react. “I’ve heard of him.”

“You’ve more than heard of him, Steve.”

He cleared his throat. “He did that to you?”

“I was covering my guy, so he shot him. Right through me.”

Without thinking Steve reached out and ghosted his fingers over the small, puckered scar. He did not even realize he had stepped in front of her. He had been losing actions that way for a while, moving without meaning to. Without Clint and Natasha to guide him around he might have walked to Philadelphia from here without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s not your fault.”

 _Yes, it is._ He realized if he had caught Bucky before he fell, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t crashed the plane and kept looking for him, none of this would have happened. If he hadn’t been selfish, been irrational, none of this would have happened.

She deserved better, he thought vaguely. Better than him, better than this world they were living in, better than SHIELD.

She deserved _order_ , a voice said.

Peace and quiet and order and a sense of purpose. He thought maybe Natasha was floating just as much as he was, almost as reliant on Clint’s guidance as he was in a lot of ways. She seemed so focused though, so in-control.

And Steve was so scared to lose her. His one friend.

His thumb was still on the scar, light over the soft flesh. Natasha was beautiful. He knew that. And terrifying. He knew that too. In so many ways she was everything he couldn’t be, he was never going to be. Confident, calm, fearless. Someone he wanted on his side, no matter what side that was.

A good asset.

“I’m sorry,” he said once more. “I—“

_Thank you. Help me. I can’t think straight. Thank you for rescuing me, but I’m fine now you can go. I owe you my life, I owe you everything. God help me, I don’t know what I’m doing. Please tell me what to do. Let me be something for you._

She did not respond, studying him carefully, face neutral, expressionless to a point of being uncanny.

He met her eye but could not hold her gaze.

He wondered then what Rumlow would do now. Push hair out of her face and smile. But he could not smile the way Rumlow could, that weird smile like he knew something Steve didn’t — though now Steve realized that the thing Rumlow knew was that he was part of Hydra and was seducing Steve and bringing him into the fold. Steve couldn’t seduce. Couldn’t do it when he was a whole man and certainly couldn’t do it now. Not the way Rumlow could. And that would not work on Natasha anyway.

He would never be like Rumlow. He did not have that to offer. All he had was—

_His mouth, his cock, his veins._

But he wanted her with him.

“ _I want you with me when the world changes.”_

He knelt on the ground in front of her, moving very, very slowly. He looked up at her before pressing his lips to the scar on her hip, hand resting on her side very, very softly. He was afraid to make too much contact with her, he was not allowed that. At least not yet. Maybe, maybe he could—

He glanced up at her through his eyelashes. Rumlow had always liked when he that.

“Steve…”

“How do you want me, Agent Romanoff?” The words were out of his mouth before he even thought them. He swallowed and looked at her face, her cheeks, her lips; not her eyes. “I can— I—“

She did not respond. He pressed his lips to the scar once more, desperate and tired and starting to shake. His fingers moved to the top of her pants, but he did not touch the skin beneath, he was not so presumptuous. He was slumped in on himself. It would be easy for him to just bend down entirely, lick her shoes, worship her ankles. It felt like such a monumental burden to hold himself up even here on his knees when he could collapse at her feet, let her use him however she wanted.

“Please… let me— I can—“

She ran her small hand through his hair, turning his face up to meet her eye once more.

“You can what?”

“Be what you want.”

“Who says I want anything?”

He blinked. “Everybody wants something.” He swallowed. “I can— however you want me. I’ll be good. I need—“ he stopped himself, looking away.

“What do you need?”

He did not know what he needed. He just knew things would be easier if she was there with him. He needed her. He wanted her. She was so much better, and smarter than he was.

“I can’t breathe,” he whispered.

He saw her nod out of the corner of his eye. “You know Rollins tried to recruit me? When we were looking for you.”

Steve looked up at her. “He did?”

She nodded. “Maybe he should’ve asked you about me first, huh? He was using stuff he found in my file to try and win me over.”

“You doctored your file.”

“Yeah. But if I had been that girl it might have worked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment. “It’s hard to say no. I know that better than you, even after what you just went through. It’s easier to be something we’re not.”

Her hand was in his hair.

“Do you want me to come with you?” she whispered. He had to force himself not to nod. “I don’t care about a lot, Steve. Hydra, SHIELD, the KGB, they’re all useless. Regimes come and go. I care about you.”

Steve was frozen, staring down at the floor again.

“I’ll go with you if you go back.”

Steve hadn’t even thought about going back.

“Or I’ll stay here for you.”

Steve did not want to be here either.

“Tell me, Steve.”

“…I don’t know. I can’t even think.”

He flinched when he heard the door open, and tried to slide away, but Natasha’s hand on his head held him still. There was Clint, with a pizza box. To his credit he did not look terribly stunned to see Steve kneeling in front of Natasha, close to tears.

“How’re we doing?” Clint finally asked, setting the box down on the entryway table.

“Tell him, Steve. Tell him what you told me?”

“I don’t— I don’t know—“

Clint stood next to Natasha and with the both of them looking down at him it felt almost right. He was inordinately grateful to Clint. Part of him thought that maybe he could do something to make it up to him, to thank him for all the work he had done to make Steve better, a better spy, a better functioning human. Steve swallowed and inched a little towards Clint.

“Clint,” he whispered. He reached towards the fly of Clint’s pants before withdrawing, meeting his eye, licking his lips. “I can— I can be good.”

Clint did not respond. Steve licked his lips again and glanced down at Clint’s crotch. He reached forward once more fingers darting over the button on his jeans before Clint took a small step back.

“Stop, Steve.”

“Please. I’m good at it. He said I was—“ Steve looked away then. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can be good. I can be good for both of you. I can be good. I can try.”

“You’re doing fine, Steve. You’re doing just fine.”

“Please, Clint. Let me— I can—“

“Come on, Steve.”

Steve let Clint pull him to his feet and they walked to the bedroom. He and Natasha pushed Steve down on the bed, laying down on either side of him. Clint was in front of him when he rolled over to his side. Steve stared at him for a long moment before looking down at the sheets.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I don’t know—“

“I know. It’s not your fault.”

It was though. Steve had been stupid. What else could it be?

“Clint.”

“Steve, the three month probation period is almost up. Are you good to live on your own back at your place? Me and Nat will be around, but not as much. You can stay here if you’re not ready. We can stay here with you, still 24/7 if you need us.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you want?”

_I want Bucky. I want Brock._

“I don’t know.”

“I was thinking of proposing that we try out you going back to your apartment. See how it goes? If it’s too much we’ll leave this place open.”

Steve nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah…” He closed his eye and felt Natasha wrap her arm around him, and Clint slide in a little closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

“These things happen.”

* * *

“I— I’ve told you everything. What else is there?” Steve asked.

“You haven’t told us everything,” Nick Fury replied. He was standing over where Steve was sitting on the couch. Steve thought he should stand up, look the man in the eye but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Clint, Natasha and Maria Hill were standing against the wall of the SHIELD quarters he had been living in with Clint and Natasha. In front of the door. He could not run even if he wanted to.

“All the data from the incident self destructed when we did the rescue op, Steve. We need to know as much as we can to pursue this. You _know_ this.”

Steve nodded, but he could not make himself move past the fact that Fury called it ‘the incident’ as if it was just another mission. It had been the most important thing in Steve’s life, he realized now. There was so much more to it than Fury could even know.

Some days he was scared he wouldn’t be able to open the door again. He wouldn’t be able to turn the handle, he would be cuffed to the bed and—

“Where would Brock Rumlow go?”

“I don’t know.”

Fury sighed and Steve felt inexplicably guilty. He did not know where Brock was.

“Rogers, I don’t have any other way to ask this; are you protecting Rumlow?”

Steve stared at him then, his heart pounding. The fact of the matter was that he did not know what he was doing. Withholding information, but that was self defense. They did not need to know what Brock was— that Brock had—

“No. I’m not.”

Fury did not look convinced. Steve looked away. Fury walked around the couch towards the door and patted Steve gently on the shoulder as he passed. Steve wasn’t expecting it and flinched violently. Fury froze, the others froze, Steve froze. He turned and glanced over at them before looking back down at the floor.

“Take care of yourself, Rogers,” Fury said softly.

“Yes sir.”

* * *

They brought the few things he had with him back to his old apartment. Obviously some SHIELD agents had been through and dusted, cleaned and restocked the fridge, put fresh sheets on the bed. Steve thought that should have made him feel a little safer, but it made him feel worse.

Clint was chatting with Agent 13, Sharon, who was posted in the next apartment over — not a nurse, like he had thought months ago — he thought he should have been angry about the deception, but like a lot of things now, he found he did not care. With him distracted, Steve pulled Natasha aside.

“It’s bugged, right? The apartment.”

Her eyes widened a little and there was a small thrill of satisfaction in him that he could get any sort of reaction out of her at all. She nodded after a moment.

“Can you help me get rid of them? I can’t… I can’t be watched right now. I can’t live here if they’re watching me.”

Natasha gave him a small once over before she nodded once more and lead him around the apartment. Her fingers ghosted over bookshelves and vents. One by one she found small cameras and recording devices and pocketed them. When she had ten, and had searched every room she gave him a final nod.

“I think that’s all of them.”

“Thank you.”

She walked back to the entry where Clint and Agent 13 were still talking and reached into her pocket and passed Sharon the cameras.

“After everything he’s been through, he needs a bit of privacy.”

Steve wondered then who outranked who in this situation; Clint, Natasha or Sharon. He realized how little he actually knew about the inner workings of SHIELD.

“Understood,” Sharon said after a moment.

* * *

He thought that first night alone would be harder. And it was. It was hard to force himself to eat something for dinner when all he wanted to do was sit on the couch and not move. It was hard to force himself to shower, and to even think about sleeping. It all seemed so pointless.

He stepped into the bedroom in a pair of sweatpants and drying off the last of the water from his hair when he saw it.

Sitting on the perfectly made bed was a photo.

Steve wasn’t close enough to see what it was, and he was terrified to move to the bed and examine it. It hadn’t been there when he left to take a shower. It _had not_ been there, he was certain of it. He looked and expected to see the window open, left ajar with the curtains swaying ominously in the breeze, but it wasn’t. Everything was exactly as he had left it. Except for the photo lying on the bed, waiting to be picked up.

Steve swallowed and moved forward to take the photo in his hand.

It was a photo.

He was looking at himself, sitting on Rumlow’s couch a bowl of pasta in his hands. He was focusing on spinning the spaghetti around the fork, not looking at the camera. Steve had not even realized Rumlow had taken the picture. He recognized the clothes he was wearing, the light shining in through the curtains.

That was the night everything had started.

He did not know what to do except stare at the picture in his shaking hand.

His phone chirped. New Message, two (2) attachments, blocked number.

The next photo was him walking to the sink and putting the pasta bowl in the sink. He looked happy, even from the back. There was something so, so light about him, about the way he held himself. He was a new person.

The third photo was him sitting on the bed, his eyes wide and unfocused as the first of the drugs started to take hold of him.

Steve could only stare. It felt like there was a great weight on his chest, pushing down against his pounding heart.

After a moment he tried everything he could to find out the number, short of giving his phone to Nick Fury himself. There was no indication where it came from. He knew though.

He knew exactly where it had come from.

Steve marveled at the photo in his hand. He looked happy. Or content. There was something different about his face that he had not been seeing in the mirror each morning since he had been rescued.

He swallowed, caught his breath and turned off his phone, all but throwing it on his nightstand. He threw the drawer of the nightstand open and put the photo inside, slamming it shut.

He lay down on the bed. He did not sleep.

* * *

_They dropped Jameson and Natasha off at the Triskilion and pretended to find Steve’s bike from the parking garage but instead just drove back to the apartment._

_“Sorry about back there,” Brock murmured._

_“What? No. I’m glad you told me. I was—“_

_They fell quiet. Steve took a breath and reached over to Brock’s hand, holding it in his own._

_“I_ am _glad you told me. I’ve been… I’m glad we’re together.”_

_“Good to know,” Brock chuckled._

_“Let me say this. I—“ He was nervous then. He bit his lip. “I’ve been thinking about saying this for a little while now. You don’t— you don’t have to say it back, but I wanted to get it out there.”_

_“What?”_

_Steve took a deep breath._

_“I love you.”_

_Steve stared at the steering wheel of the car. His grip on Brock’s hand wasn’t tight. He half expected Brock to pull his hand away and scoff, crack a joke, but he was quiet, his hand stayed in Steve’s._

_“Sorry…” he said after a moment. “You don’t— you don’t have to feel the same way.”_

_“Oh Steve,” Brock sighed. He gave Steve’s hand a squeeze. “I’m getting there, I promise. It’s a little harder for me to say that sort of thing, you know. And I mean, now you know why…”_

_“Y-yeah…”_

_Brock reached over and turned Steve’s face and their eyes met. “I feel the same way. Alright? It’s just hard to say. I’m happy you told me.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.” He stroked Steve’s cheek. “Listen, I think we should order in tonight, but tomorrow maybe we’ll celebrate? I’ll make you some of my famous pasta. Sound good?”_

_“Famous huh?” He was trying to sound light, but it felt like the whole world was exploding around him, fireworks and sparklers and everything right and bright. Brock felt the same way. That’s what mattered. He could do this now, he thought. He had someone at his back._

_“You’ll like it. This is the start of something good, Steve. A new world. I’m happy you told me.”_

_“Yeah.” He smiled at Brock then, letting out a breath he felt he had been holding since he crashed the plane. “That’s good to know.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That update took its sweet time, huh?
> 
> Only two more chapters after this, with lots of Brock action and some Bucky, don't worry! Thanks everyone for your patience, and I hope those who are celebrating have a happy holiday! *hugs to you all* Thank you everyone who's been leaving comments as well. I haven't gotten to respond to a lot of them for various reasons, but I appreciate every one of you! *hugs hugs hugs*
> 
> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
> (If you are under 18 please do NOT follow my nsfw blog. Thank you.)


	21. Chapter 21

It was early; he left when he saw the sun just break over the horizon through his window. The stream of orange light was enough to pull him from the bed and get dressed and go on his morning run.

He had been lapping the mall hard, trying to push thoughts out of his head, just running, pounding the pavement. He wanted to run away. If he let himself, he would keep running until he wasn’t in DC anymore, until he did not know where he was anymore, until his feet were bleeding stumps.

Would Hydra replace them with metal like Bucky’s arm? Would they replace his whole body if he asked? He would never have to feel anything ever again.

His phone chirped. He came to a stop at a tree, panting and pulled it from his pocket.

New Message, no known contact. _(1 attachment)_

Steve felt like he was going to be sick. With unsteady fingers he opened the picture.

He was shirtless, flushed bright red, pants pushed halfway down his legs, cock hard and leaking onto his stomach. In the picture his eyes were closed, mouth open in a gasp or a sob, and there was a sheen of sweat on his face, his chest. And a sheen of something else; tears tracking down his face, shiny and clear.

Steve did feel sick then. He remembered that feeling from the drugs, the aphrodisiac running through his veins. He slowly made his way down to sitting against the tree, breathing deeply.

Brock had made him come without touching him. The drugs had made him come; confused and desperate and so fucking scared. His hands shook as he looked at the photo of himself. He had been shaking when Brock did this to him too.

_I could keep you like this forever._

Steve was going to throw up. He knew it. He knew it was coming up, he couldn’t breathe, he—

“You alright?” Steve started violently and saw a man staring down at him, panting. Steve knew him. He had seen him running at the same time as him. If he hadn’t been with Brock he might have even asked him out… before.

Steve nodded but did not say much else.

“You sure? You look like shit.”

Steve blinked up at him and then laughed. It was a brittle sound in his throat. “Feel like shit, I guess.”

“Sleeping okay?”

“No.”

“It’s your bed, isn’t it?”

Steve froze, threatened and flashing back to the bed where this had all happened without being able to stop himself. “What?”

“Too soft. Guys coming back from action used to sleeping on the ground. I used to use a rock for a pillow in Iraq. Come back home, go to bed and it—“

“Feels like a marshmallow. Like you’re sinking.” Steve had not stopped feeling like he was sinking since Rumlow cuffed him to a bed and raped him. But he knew what the man was talking about. He had slept on the floor for weeks when they first pulled him from the ice.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“You army?”

“Air Force.”

“How long.”

“Two tours.” They fell quiet for a moment. Steve put his cell phone into his pocket. “Listen,” the man continued. “You’re with SHIELD now, right?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re Captain America. It’s common knowledge that that’s where you’re at.”

“I guess I am, then.” _I guess I’m Captain America. Still him._ It didn’t feel like it though.

“Were you a part of what went down a few weeks ago?” Steve did not reply. “There was a big, confidential op. I’ve got a few SHIELD people come into my sessions; that’s how I heard about it. Seemed to leave some people really shaken up. High stakes kinda shit. They didn’t tell me the details, obviously, but you can see it left them scarred.”

Steve swallowed. “I was there,” he replied. He felt a wave of guilt again. His rescue operation. Big, confidential, high stakes. He left people shaken up enough so that this complete stranger knew about it. That a complete stranger saw the scars.

“You’re always welcome to come and talk. Our meetings are anonymous.”

“Kinda hard to be anonymous for me.”

In fact, SHIELD PR reps had mentioned early on that he should avoid meetings like that at all costs, if only because the press would have a field day with it. That was before everything had happened too. They had supplied a list of all sorts of support groups he wasn’t allowed to attend; Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Addicts Anonymous, any disease related groups. After looking at the list he gave the two women from the PR department a withered look.

“ _You know I can’t get drunk, right?”_

“ _All the more reason to not go to one of those meetings,”_ the older of the two women replied. He couldn’t argue with her there.

Steve had even considered sneaking into any sort of meeting like that a few weeks after he had been thawed. Half of him wanted to do it just because he had been told not to, but the other half could not push the idea of ‘support group’ out of his mind. He talked himself out of it. Who in god’s name would be able to relate to waking up seventy years in the future?

“Yeah, but my people’ll respect the meeting.”

“What kind of meeting is this?”

“I work at the VA office. For people with PTSD mostly. Just a support group. Give folks a chance to talk with other people who get it.”

“PTSD?”

“Battle fatigue.”

“Right.” He nodded.

That wasn’t Steve. He hadn’t earned the right to feel anything about the war, he hadn’t seen enough at the time. He hadn’t seen enough now, if he was honest with himself. He remembered walking through the hospital tents in Europe and seeing the glassy eyed stares of the men who had seen too much, and he knew he was not one of them. He was grateful for it then. He was not one of them now either. They had gone through so much more than he had.

Steve did not have battle fatigue.

He wondered if they would be shaken from their stupors if they found out what had happened to him, disgusted and ashamed. He almost shuddered in front of the man from the VA then. That kind of thing would be beyond humiliating.

Steve’s phone chirped again, he didn’t have it in him to look at the picture, he wasn’t ready to see it. A third time it chirped and the man’s eyebrows quirked.

“Gonna get that?”

“It’ll keep.”

“Here man, let me give you my card. You can check those messages. I’ll let you go.”

Steve nodded and brought himself up to his feet. There was an awkward small exchange where Steve stuck out his hand to shake the other man’s and the man was passing along his card from his wallet. Steve huffed out a small laugh and finally shook the man’s hand, looking at the business card for a moment. The man’s hands were warm, and it almost felt wrong to touch him. He was a good man, that much was clear. Steve might not have been that great at reading Rumlow, but he knew that this person was inherently good. He shouldn’t even touch Steve, he was too good.

“Sam Wilson?”

“That’s me.”

“Steve Rogers.”

“Good to meet you, man.”

“I might stop by some time.”

“You should. I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah. Take it easy, alright? Get some sleep if you can.”

Steve nodded but didn’t say anything else. Sam Wilson gave him a small wave and started jogging off. Steve watched him go, leaning back against the tree. Things could have been different. Rumlow ruined everything, even if Steve had gotten away.

And Steve had gotten away. He knew that. He was free.

He went back to his apartment and opened the messages from the unknown number.

The first picture was him, tense and terrified, cuffed to the bed. The blindfold, the gag, the nipple clamps, the sounding rod, the bullet vibrator. He swallowed, staring at the little square picture in his palm.

The next was him after that part of his ordeal. He was curled up as much as he could be with his hands and feet cuffed to the bed. The blindfold was still on him. He looked pale. He looked so fucking pale. Steve did not think he could look like that. All the color in his face, his body, his lips was gone. His face and the blindfold were wet, bruises were already forming around his wrists where the cuffs were. And there was something… Steve couldn’t put his finger on it, but the way his body looked as he lay on the bed.

Broken. He looked broken.

Steve dropped his phone. It landed with a dull thud on the carpet.

He thought he was going to throw up. That’s why he moved to the bathroom, right? He was in the bathroom, but he could barely move. He just sat against the cabinets by the sink and felt cold.

He felt so fucking cold.

But then he felt something else. Anger.

Hours might have passed, he wasn’t sure, but he left the bathroom and found his phone. Right where he had put it down on the table. No, where he had dropped it on the floor. He stared at it on the floor, almost expecting it to have been picked up and put where it belonged by someone else. But it just lay there.

He dialed the number. The one that had sent him the photos.

It rang once, twice, but not a third time. There was a small click, but nothing more.

“Are you there?” he asked.

No one responded.

“Hello?”

No one responded.

That made him angry all over again. He could feel it bubbling under his skin. After everything Brock had done to him, all the pain and fear and now he wasn’t even speaking? Steve was ready to scream, he wanted to scream.

“What are you doing? What the fuck are you fucking doing?” He hissed into the phone.

No one responded.

He was pacing around his apartment. He could hear breathing on the other line. A normal person might not have been able to hear it, but when in god’s name has Steve been normal? Not since the forties. Hell, he might not have been normal before that either.

“Answer me! I know you’re there! I know it’s you, Brock.”

Did he? Did he know it was Brock?

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing sending me those pictures? What is wrong with you?!”

He was fuming, he was shaking.

“You lost. You fucking lost. You don’t have Captain fucking America, do you?! You lost, Rumlow! I got out. They found me! They fucking found me, and now you’re on the run.”

He was lying. He realized he was lying because he was the one calling and almost screaming into the phone with no response. He was the one letting it get to him. He hung up and threw the phone across the apartment where it shattered against the wall.

* * *

_“Say it again babe,” Brock said when he hung up his phone from ordering pizza._

_“What?”_

_Brock pinned Steve against the counter and their hips pressed flush together. “Say it again, what you said in the car.”_

_Steve smiled, “I—I love you.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

He got a new phone with a new number. He told Maria Hill that he had dropped his old one in the street when he had to go ask for a new one. She gave him a strange look, and he wondered if she had his old one tapped. Could she have seen all the photos? A thrill of fear passed through him until she gave him a small smile.

“Did you squish it in your hand? Super strength thing?”

A small breath of almost laughter fell from his lips. The image was just too cartoonish. “Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

She smirked and handed him the signed form to take down to the tech guys to get a new phone.

He liked the new phone. It was easy to use. It had a few games.

And the number was different.

Brock couldn’t call him if he didn’t have Steve’s new number. And Steve didn’t give out his number to anyone except Natasha. She and Clint were the only people who he talked to anymore anyway. When he had first gotten a phone and SHIELD issued him business cards, he all but threw them at people. He would get calls from people he had met on the street asking for help, advice. He used to answer calls like that but SHIELD put an algorithm designed by Tony to screen the calls; only people who might have actually had real business with Steve could reach him.

Steve thought the people he had given his cards to had real business with him, but SHIELD hadn’t agreed.

It was a day of peace before his phone chirped again. Steve didn’t even recognize the new default tone, different from his last one. Once, twice, three times, the strange sound rang out through his apartment while he worked in the kitchen on some paperwork Clint had mercifully let him do to stave off lingering boredom. He wasn’t allowed to go back into the field yet. The only time he really went out was when he was practicing ‘spy shit’ with Clint or Natasha, but the two of them were still SHIELD agents and got called out more and more now that Steve was back at his own place and theoretically settling into his life again.

But the phone chirped once, twice, three times. The only person who had his number was Natasha. If she was texting three times it was important.

But it wasn’t Natasha.

He was smiling. There was a blindfold over his eyes but Steve was smiling in the photo. Brock’s hand was on his chest, his collarbone and Steve could almost feel it on his skin now as he stared at his phone.

Why in god’s name was he smiling?

Steve looked around the empty apartment, as if there was someone watching him. He flicked over to the next photo and realized what it was.

On the small phone screen, the picture was of Steve, naked staring at the bruises on his arm. His hand was limp as he looked through glazed eyes.

He was high. It was him on the benzodiazepine mix. Steve didn’t want to see the next photo. Was it Brock fucking him? Steve was only half sure that even happened. The episode was a hazy, terrible blur.

“ _Look at the bruises…”_

Even now looking at the picture the bruises on his wrists were a cruel, painful thing. The colors of his skin mangled into something unrecognizable. Steve glanced down at his own arm now and could not even imagine how such a thing could have happened. They were healed now, but part of him wondered if he stared at his arms in just the right light, the bruises would still be there?

The bruises might never leave.

He opened the last picture.

It wasn’t of him and Brock — had he been on top then? had Brock used the cold lube? he couldn’t remember — but it was worse.

He was lying on the bed, staring up, presumably towards the ceiling fan. Even now Steve could remember the hypnotic spin of it above him. The drugs made it impossibly complicated, fascinating. He remembered being dragged down into a new place in his mind just watching the spin happen on the ceiling.

In the picture his eyes were dilated, and his mouth hung open just a little, his lips wet and his face flushed.

He looked helpless.

“ _You’re so sweet.”_

It took all of Steve’s power not to break the new phone as well.

* * *

“Stop,” he murmured into the phone. It had taken him hours to try and call the number back. Hours of him sitting on his couch, the chair in the corner, at the dining room table, the kitchen island. He walked around the block four times before pacing around his too large apartment over and over, certainly wearing a track in the hardwood and carpet. He was mustering as much strength as he could, but it was not enough. He already knew it was not enough. He could hear how broken he was, and so could Brock. Or Rollins, or whoever was on the other end.

No one responded.

“Stop, please…”

No one responded at all. But there was someone breathing. It was Brock. He knew it was Brock. He knew it. He knew the way that man breathed because he had been listening for it for so long.

What was he really expecting? His palm grew sweaty where he held the phone.

“I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t— you have to stop. There’s nothing you can do. You’re making things worse.”

Worse than what?

“I can’t— I don’t know— you’re just—“

He wanted to be angry. He was just tired.

“I didn’t even notice you were taking the pictures.” Steve forced himself to breath. The deep inhalations that the therapist recommended. “I guess I was a little distracted.” Breathe in, breathe out. “Why the fuck would you take pictures of that?”

Breathe in, breathe out.

“Did you know you’d be doing this?”

Clench fist, run hand through hair, breath faster.

“Just fucking stop.”

He ran his hand over his face closed his eyes.

“Please.”

* * *

_Brock’s hand was on his face as they sat facing each other on the couch. Steve closed his eyes and leaned in to the touch._

_“Say it again.”_

_“I love you.”_

_Brock’s hand was warm._

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

Steve was having trouble focusing. He tried to remember what happened next. What happened after Brock drugged him? Steve would go to the Triskilion, talk with the therapist, meet with Natasha and Clint, and was living his life. But he could not stop dreading what was coming next.

What happened next?

The benzo made him sick. He remembered that.

One day a picture came of him sleeping on Brock’s shoulder, pale and sallow and sweaty.

Then Brock fucked him.

There was no picture of that. Steve did not know whether to be grateful for that or not. It hadn’t been bad though. Brock was gentle then. That was the ‘break,’ Steve remembered.

That was when he decided he had to kill Brock.

He hadn’t done that very well, had he?

_“Babe, things are going to get much worse.”_

Steve was having trouble focusing. He thought that maybe he’d be having trouble focusing even if Brock wasn’t sending him pictures of what had happened — Steve never knew what to call it either. “The Incident,” is what SHIELD was using. “Stevie’s Very Bad Breakup” is what Natasha called it; Steve tried to smile at that, but it never felt like it fit on his face when he did.

Though in this day and age, sending unsolicited pictures happened when people had a bad breakup, but Steve was pretty sure this isn’t what they meant.

Steve was having trouble focusing. He would lose hours in his apartment. It was like he would wake up in a different place than he remembered sitting down. His thoughts weren’t linear, his mind not where his body was.

And he couldn’t sleep.

And he kept hurting his arm.

Nothing felt like the cuffs. Some nights he would sit on his kitchen floor and start lightly tapping his wrist against the sharp corner of the kitchen island. Tap. Tap. Tap. Breathe in. Breathe out. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it, but he would kept it up, and he would start going harder. _Tap. Tap. Tap._

The wood splintered underneath his wrist one night, and a jagged piece gouged into his skin. The pain of it brought Steve back to reality with a gasp; he stared as the small bead of blood welled up on his skin.

His wrist was a little bruised.

Two thoughts went through his mind. The first was that he should show Bucky the bruises; they could sit and press the skin and watch the blood ebb and flow underneath his muscles, changing color, burning into his nerves and making him feel whole.

The next thought had him rushing for his phone. He dialed the unknown number.

“Bucky? I thought it was Brock but is it you?”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Bucky, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you so much. I should’ve told you. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so, so long and you died. Please, I’m sorry.”

No one responded.

“Please, please say something. Bucky, please. I’m sorry I didn’t say it, I’m so sorry. Please…”

That was the next thing that happened wasn’t it? The Leeches, the pain, and then Bucky. That made perfect sense and now Steve couldn’t breathe, and maybe he had been wrong, _so wrong!_ It was Bucky and here was Steve yelling through the phone at him.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. It was you. It’s you. I know it’s you. I’m here, please. I’m right here. Please don’t leave me.”

No one responded.

The line clicked.

_“Look at the bruises…”_

Steve stared at his phone, at the blood on his wrist when there was a small chirp. It sounded like a siren in the empty apartment.

There was Steve, the blindfold pushed up off of his face. The red glow of the Leeches made him look sick, flushed, shining against the sheen of sweat on his body. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed as he stared up. He was looking at Bucky. His mouth dropped open in shock, horror, confusion. The red light gave his eyes an almost purple tint; he didn’t even look human. He looked so scared.

Bucky was out of the frame. It was just of Steve’s face. Steve tapped at the screen, seeing if he could move the photo, expose more. He was frantic. Bucky was there, Bucky was right there.

He called the number back.

“Please,” he whispered, sobbed. “Please, let me see him.”

No one responded.

His wrist was healing. The serum still worked. The cut wasn’t even open anymore.

The apartment was silent, and Steve couldn’t focus.

Maybe if he hurt his arm badly enough they would cut it off and give him one like Bucky’s.

* * *

_Brock walked Steve back to the bed. Steve sat down, staring up at him through his eyelashes. His calloused hands on Steve’s face, his neck, his shoulders felt like a miracle. He let his hands rest on Brock’s hips, fingers ghosting over the place where his pants met his skin under his shirt. Steve marveled at it. He thought he was happy again._

_“Can I say it again?” he whispered. Brock held Steve by the wrists, keeping him close._

_“I’d have you say it forever, babe.”_

_“I love you.”_

_Brock leaned down and kissed him and it felt different, and better, and complete. “Good to know,” he said into Steve’s mouth. Steve’s eyes fluttered closed as Brock pushed him down onto the bed. “Good to know, babe.”_

* * *

The picture of Steve screaming on the bed, terrified and wide-eyed from the hallucinogenic made him sick to his stomach. He could remember that fear. It left him peaking up at the dark shadowy corners of his apartment, over his shoulder.

It was so different from the picture of him on the benzodiazepine mix again. But that made him feel sick too. He was sucking on a pair of metal fingers, a grin in his unfocused eyes.

He missed Bucky.

He missed Brock.

“Thirteen minutes, six seconds,” he said softly into the phone one night.

He was sitting on the floor by his bed. He had started off sitting on the bed, but slid down and pressed into the place where the bed met the nightstand as the line rang.

“That’s how long I lasted. Longer than you, Rumlow.”

He paused staring at his socked feet on the carpet.

“But not longer than Bucky. I hope— I don’t— is that okay? I don’t even—“

He stopped himself.

“Fuck. What do you want? What do you fucking want from me? You broke me. You won. It was over, you said it was over and it’s not. It was supposed to be over, Brock.”

The sweatshirt he was wearing had strings coming down from the hood and he started fiddling with them with his free hand. Clothes were so strange this century. It made sense, it was a drawstring and would make the hood tighter, but he still could not wrap his head around it. He was used to it, but it was still foreign, still not quite comfortable.

“I was at your apartment building. I didn’t even know why I was there. I was just walking…”

The hoodie string was tangled in his fingers.

“I’ve been doing that a lot. Walking. And losing time. I do that too. I end up somewhere and don’t quite know how I got there. I’m supposed to tell someone about it. I have a doctor now… a shrink. He’s a good guy but he’s…”

Steve bit his lip.

“I don’t know what he is.”

He frowned down at the carpet, wiped his face with his hand, listened to the soft breathing at the other end of the phone that was supposed to be so quiet Steve couldn’t hear it.

“I don’t know anything, do I? I don’t know what’s happening, but—“

But _what?_

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. It feels like the walls are closing in sometimes. I can’t breathe. I wake up and think you’ll be there, and you’re not. But you’re not even there cuffing me to the bed either. There’s nothing. There’s no one here.”

He sniffled a little. It was cold. He could feel it even with the warm clothes in the insulated apartment. That sort of half-cold that you could feel in your toes and nose. He hated being cold so fucking much but he did not want to move. He wanted to hold very still and have his blood slow in his veins and maybe, just maybe he would freeze over. Just like when he crashed the plane.

“I’m tired,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t know what you want from me. I need a break. I need something, just give me something I can work with. I don’t— I’m so tired, Brock. I’m sorry. I’m not good enough.”

His face was tight and he couldn’t focus his eyes.

“I’m really sorry.”

He hung up the phone and tossed it down onto the carpet out of reach. He stayed there a long, long time.

* * *

_His hands and lips were on Steve’s body and it felt right. His mouth was drifting over his neck, his chest, his abdomen. Steve smiled up at the ceiling as Brock worshiped his skin. This was good. He was warm, he was almost shaking he felt so good. Not just physically but spiritually. Something was releasing inside of him. Something unnameable and intangible, but it was there. He was opening up to Brock above him._

_“Wow,” Brock whispered._

_“What?”_

_“How come you don’t smile like that more often?”_

_“Shut up. You’re just trying to make me blush._

_“I’m serious. You look different.”_

_His fingers ran down Steve’s face and Steve couldn’t meet his eye. “I don’t know.”_

_“Gotta do it more often, babe.”_

_“Okay… sorry.”_

_“Don’t be sorry.”_

_Brock was kissing him again, and their bodies fit together perfectly. Steve knew this, but now it was thousands of times more potent. His hands were shaking now as he reached up and felt Brock above him, ran his hands down his sides. Brock made him feel smaller, different, surrounded by warmth, and god, maybe, just maybe he felt the same way about Steve. Not even the same but something comparable, something equal that fit like a puzzle piece with what Steve felt._

_Steve came with Brock inside of him, a soft breath falling from his lips that Brock swallowed up as they kissed again._

_And again, and again._

_“God, Brock,” Steve sighed when they finally broke for air. He fell back on the bed, eyes closed. “Oh my god.”_

_“Doing okay?”_

_Steve was spread out on the bed, and Brock propped himself up on his elbow to look down at him. He nodded. “Yeah.”_

_They stayed quiet for a long time. Brock ran a finger in strange, swirling patterns over Steve’s chest and it felt so good. Steve could die right there. Part of him thought before tonight he’d want to, but after confessing his feelings for Brock he wanted to keep going. He never thought he’d want to keep going._

_“What are you thinking?” Brock asked._

_“About what you said; ‘a new world.’”_

_“This is the start, Stevie.”_

_“No… I mean, yeah. But I crashed a plane and woke up and the whole world changed, remember? I always thought a new world was a bad thing. It had been horrible. But this…” Steve bit his lip. “This is the first time I’ve been alright with it.”_

_Brock smiled. “That’s good, babe.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Just think if you hadn’t told me what you told me in the car. This would’ve been just another night.”_

_“But I did.”_

_“But you did. I’m proud of you. I know that shit ain’t easy.”_

_“Proud?” Steve felt his face get warm at that._

_“Well, yeah.” Brock quirked his brow. “Aw, babe. You did so good. That kind of thing isn’t easy, but you did it. I’m so proud of you.” Steve couldn’t hold Brock’s gaze, but Brock turned his face back and Steve had no choice but to meet his eye. “There’s that smile again. God, you’re perfect.”_

_“Stop… you win.”_

_“Say it again.”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Good to know.”_

* * *

He got his mail mechanically, there was hardly ever anything there, but it was a habit by now. The only way he could seem human on the outside. When he opened the small mailbox against the wall however, he saw there was something inside. It was a padded envelope. Steve took it up to his apartment and ripped it open the moment his door was closed.

There was a syringe.

There was no note, no indication as to what was inside of it. But Steve knew at least where it had come from. The same source as the pictures.

He thought to throw it out. That made the most sense. He wasn’t even sure what was in it.

But he knew.

He had asked for a break.

Steve looked around even though he knew the apartment was empty before going to the bathroom. He looked around again. He was not even sure how to do this, how he was going to do this. He leaned over the sink and pulled up his sweatshirt sleeve past his elbow. He made a fist and saw his veins stand up from his forearm. He took the cap of the syringe off with his teeth, spitting it to the floor, and brought the needle to his arm. His heart was pounding as he pressed it into his vein, biting his lip at the prick of it through his skin.

The syringe was empty, the benzodiazepine mix inside of him. He stepped back and tossed the syringe onto the counter before sitting down against the tub. His eyelids felt a little heavy as the drugs pulled him down so he closed them. He let himself drift off to the side and curled up with his back against the cold porcelain of the tub.

When he was next aware, Steve thought the porcelain felt like ice, like hands on his skin. He groaned and sat up. The breath in his lungs felt like ecstasy. He blinked, licked his lips, looked around the bathroom. He felt okay, he finally felt okay.

He laughed for what felt like hours. Just sitting there in the bathroom, laughing, staring at his hands, looking for bruises on his wrists.

He felt so good. It was so much better. He wanted to cry, he wanted to touch someone, he missed Bucky. Things were spinning a little, but he was so ready to do whatever anyone asked of him. He felt alive, he felt like he had died. He felt whole and he felt empty.

He could not stop laughing. He could not stop sobbing.

He fell back asleep after hours of this confusion, pressing his face to the tile of the bathroom floor and shivering at the cold against his skin.

He woke up and his stomach lurched, he opened his eyes and dragged himself to the toilet but the nausea passed. He breathed a little, staring into the toilet bowl waiting, but nothing happened. His tongue felt fuzzy, and his stomach needed soda water and crackers, but other than that he was okay. His head throbbed, but not terribly. With his serum he could feel it would be gone within the next half an hour.

Steve blinked and made himself stand. Outside of the bathroom he found where he had put his phone down and he called back the unknown number once more.

“It was better,” he said softly, sitting down in a chair in the living room, tucking his legs up in front of him. “The crash… it wasn’t as bad.”

He sighed, staring ahead. He needed to eat, he needed to sleep, the drugs were still in his system making him groggy. He was aware they had done that to him before, but with the vomiting and headaches, it was hard to notice. He rubbed his eyes furiously.

“I just thought you should know. It’s not—“

He sighed again, at a loss for words.

“Thanks… I guess. For that. I wish you—“

He knew what he wished, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. _I wish you were here._ Coming down from drugs with no one else around was a terrible feeling. He wanted to hold someone, he wanted to talk.

“Thanks.”

He hung up, staring off into space for a moment. He felt like he was still floating from the benzo mix. Maybe he was. He almost wished there was more of it.

The phone chirped. A picture of Steve sleeping on Brock’s bed, someone with dark hair pressed against his back. It was Bucky, but Steve couldn’t see his face. But it was enough.

“Thanks…” he whispered into the dark apartment.

* * *

_It was a little chilly in the early morning air. Steve shuddered a little, but felt a hand bring the blankets up and over his shoulder. He sank back down into the heat, inched towards the warm chest against his back._

_“Say it again, babe,” Brock’s voice whispered, barely penetrating the quiet._

_“I love you.”_

_“Good to know.”_

_And god, even if Brock wasn’t saying it back, his perfect, soft ‘good to know’ felt like ‘I love you too’._

_“Thanks.”_

_Steve found Brock’s arm around his waist and pulled himself even closer into Brock, bringing Brock’s hand up to his chest. Brock found his heart and held on tight and Steve drifted back to sleep._

* * *

The picture of him tied up with the ropes, blindfolded, gagged, with the earplugs and anal plugs and sounding rod did not evoke much reaction in Steve. He looked at it for a long time.

Bucky had put those ropes on him.

Bucky and Brock had fucked him, even when he was like that. Pathetic, helpless. They had used him then still. Steve couldn’t parse out whether it had been punishment or reward at that point. It was so terrifying, but he had learned his lesson. His body wasn’t his.

It still wasn’t, he supposed.

“I wish you would just say something,” he whispered. “Nothing makes sense anymore.” He knew that much. “I think it worked. What you did to me. You broke me. I’m— god, I need a new brain. I can’t even think. I can’t order food at restaurants, and I can’t go out on missions.”

He sighed.

“I’m useless. I want— I wish I could be useful again. I was helping, Brock. You took that away. I was saving people.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to say.

“No. That’s not what I meant to say. I mean— I thought—“

He bit his lip, saw himself tapping his wrist against the corner of kitchen island lightly. That was the only noise in the apartment.

“Why aren’t you using me?”

He hated those words out of his lips.

He stared at the tile underneath his feet.

“Why did you leave? Why aren’t you…” he whispered. That was the last thing he even wanted to voice out loud and yet there it was, floating in the kitchen, in the phone line between him and Brock.

His breath didn’t feel like it belonged in his lungs.

“I killed for you. For Hydra.” He closed his eyes against the onslaught of images that evoked. He could not unsee the bloody mess of a human he left on the floor of Brock’s apartment.

It wasn’t Brock’s apartment, he had to keep telling himself that.

“And the Tentacle. I did it.”

He was too numb to cry.

“So why did you leave me?”

* * *

_“So I’ll see you tonight?”_

_“I vaguely remember something about pasta sauce.”_

_“You’re gonna love it.”_

_Steve hummed, pressing close to Brock as they stood by the door. “I love you,” he said once more into Brock’s neck._

_“Good to know, babe.” He pulled Steve tight and turned his head and brought him down to kiss him once more. Steve sighed through his nose and felt so, so calm._

_“I’m gonna be late,” he murmured as Brock nipped at his neck._

_“Tonight then. It’s gonna be so good.”_

_“Yeah. I can’t wait.”_

_“Me neither.”_

_“I love you. So much, Brock.”_

_“I know. Everything’s gonna change, babe.”_

_Steve smiled and met his eye. “Good to know.”_

* * *

Natasha was quiet when they walked around the lake at the small park. He had walked here with her before, he thought vaguely.  _Before._ Everything was falling into ‘before’ and ‘after’ what had happened to him. The only problem was that the ‘after’ kept growing as the days passed and he was stuck in the ‘during.’

He wondered if he’d ever be able to wake up without feeling hands on his body again. He wondered if he wanted to.

That morning he had woken up with a picture of him kneeling on a duvet on the floor, scared and crying. The Tentacle wasn’t on his back yet, but Steve knew what the next picture would be. He turned his phone on silent so he wouldn’t have to see it until he was ready. He wondered if Rumlow just hadn’t gotten a decent picture of him murdering a man or pressed between him and Bucky, writhing and gasping and calling him ‘daddy.’

“So,” Natasha asked as they walked. “Seeing anyone?”

Steve snorted. “If I was I’d bet you’d know before even I did.”

“What about that VA guy?”

It took Steve a moment to remember who she was referring to. Sam Wilson; the man with the friendly eyes who gave him his card. Steve saw him and waved a few times while they were out running. It was easy. He liked him well enough, and he had a nice smile, but…

“How d’you even know about him?”

“I know everything.”

“I’m sure you do.”

They fell back into silence for a few more steps. It was nice, the air was fresh and cool, the grass and trees swayed in the breeze. Natasha’s arm was looped in his and it felt nice.

“He’d be better than fucking Rumlow.”

Steve hummed but did not give a real reply. She was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he believed it. Or rather, he believed it and didn’t believe it at the same time. Knowing there were better romantic prospects out there was superfluous. It never mattered when he was dating Rumlow; hell, it hadn’t mattered before either. He had fallen into Rumlow’s world accidentally if he was being honest with himself. He hadn’t been looking then, and he wasn’t looking now.

Of course it wasn’t an accident on Rumlow’s part.

It felt like he was still hurting, and he could not help but remember what Rumlow had said about pain having to matter. He stared at Natasha for a few steps before looking out towards the lake.

Rumlow was waiting for something. Steve realized that with a blink. He knew how to make the hurting stop.

“Steve?”

“Don’t think I’m gonna start dating any time soon.”

“Understandable.”

“You’ll be the first to know if it happens.”

“Good.”

Steve was quiet the rest of their walk together, Natasha was as well. It was a peaceful quiet; a much needed eye of a storm. They separated at the parking lot, Natasha going into a sporty little car and Steve getting back on his bike. The wind had grown a little colder now that evening had started to settle over them and he zipped up his jacket after giving her a small wave.

It felt like he was floating again as he drove back to his apartment. The sun had set and it was dark as he walked up the stairs and fumbled with his keys to get into the room. He wasn’t going to turn on any lights when Peggy Carter’s voice floated over him, calling him melodramatic. He flicked on one of the lights so he wasn’t sitting alone in the dark.

She’d be so disappointed in him.

He pulled out his phone and dialed the number.

* * *

“Brock, I— I know what you’re waiting for. I know now.”

He had ended sitting against the cabinets in his kitchen, his knees drawn up to his chest. He was tired, resting his head to the side, pressed up against the wood. He felt cold. He felt so, so cold.

“You want me to say it. I know you want me to say it.”

He bit his lip, sniffling a little bit. The kitchen felt so big, the apartment felt so big.

“Why didn’t you just kill me? This isn’t right. I can’t breathe. I’m Captain America. You’re supposed to kill me. This is—“

_This is so much worse._

“I can’t breathe at all.”

He wiped his face, stared at the wood floor beneath him.

“Is Bucky okay?” he whispered. “You— you said you wanted me to be his handler, right? I can do that. I’ll do it. I’ll try. That’s what I should do. Use me for that. But I can’t— I don’t know— I can’t— you want me to—“

He was tired.

“You want me to say it.”

He was so, so tired.

“Brock, please. Answer me. Please…”

Clint and Natasha had taught him something they didn’t think he would ever use. He knew how to disappear now. He was ready.

He was ready for it to stop hurting.

“Brock?”

He wiped his face again and it felt wet.

“Brock? Are you there?”

_Say it again._

“I’ll say it.”

_I love you._

 

_“Hail Hydra…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Betsy, that was a dramatic, cliff-hanger-y way to end things. Whoops.
> 
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> 
> Two announcements;
> 
>  **• ITEM THE FIRST** : I'm doing FIC COMMISSIONS! Check out [My Fic Commisions Page!](batraquomancy.tumblr.com/commissions) if you're interested!  
>  **• ITEM THE SECOND** THERE IS GOING TO BE A SEQUEL TO THIS STORY. It'll be months and months away, but it's gonna happen and it's gonna be a doozy.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading; I'm very sorry about the large gap between chapter updates (especially with only two, now one, chapter to go). Hopefully I'll be able to churn out the final chapter sooner rather than later, but I'm trapped in job-application hell and want to scream and cry. This chapter alone took me so long because of all the screaming and crying (and staring at it for months; literally I cannot tell if this makes any sense at all!). Thank you all for your patience! I love you!
> 
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> [Personal Blog](http://batraquomancy.tumblr.com). [NSFW Blog](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/). [Reblogable Post for sharing this story](http://tiethewitchup.tumblr.com/post/129383879734/good-to-know-archive-of-our-own).  
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